& 



w 



^LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. J 

I UNITED STATES \u AME1I 



MORAL VIEWS 

OF 

COMMERCE, SOCIETY AND POLITICS, 

IN TWELVE DISCOURSES, 

BY 
ORVILLE DEWEY. 



' 



/ 

NEW-YORK: 
DAVID FELT & CO. STATIONERS' HALL. 

1838. 






Entered according to an Act of Congress, in the year 1838, 
byOrville Dewey, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of 
the Southern District of New- York. 



PRINTED AT STATIONERS' HALL PRESS. 



Ill 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
DISCOURSE I. 
On the Moral Laws of Trade, . . . . 9 

DISCOURSE II. 
On the Moral Law of Contracts, 48 

DISCOURSE III. 
On the Uses of Labor, and a Passion for a Fortune, , 74 

DISCOURSE IV. 
On the Moral Limits of Accumulation, .... 99 

DISCOURSE V, 
On the Natural and Artificial Relations of Society, . 117 

DISCOURSE VI. 

On the Moral Evils to which American Society is ex- 
posed, . , 145 

DISCOURSE VII. 
On Associations, 170 

DISCOURSE VIII. 
On Social Ambition, 190 

DISCOURSE IX. 
On the Place which Education and Religion must have in 

the Improvement of Society, . . . .210 



IV CONTENTS. 

Page 

DISCOURSE X. 
On War, . , 235 

DISCOURSE XI. 
On Political Morality, 257 

DISCOURSE XII. 
The Blessing of Freedom, 280 



PREFACE. 



The character of some of the following Discourses will, 
doubtless, be thought unusual for the pulpit. The subjects 
themselves, indeed, are out of the ordinary course of preaching. 
I might say in their defence, that such topics have been some- 
times admitted into occasional Sermons ; and that Commercial 
Morality, in particular, has been made the subject of, at least, 
one entire volume of Religious Discourses, which has not offend- 
ed the popular taste. But this defence, I must confess, does not 
satisfy me. In justice to my own convictions, I must be allow- 
ed to place the following discussions on a broader ground than 
that of exception. If I deserve blame, I cannot fairly escape 
on such a plea. For I am persuaded, not only that such discus- 
sions are entirely proper for the gulpit, but that it is the bounden 
duty of the pulpit to entertain them. 

If, indeed, I have violated the proper decorum of religious 
discourse, such an error is capable of no defence. But I must 
be allowed to say, that when I had determined that it was my 
duty as a preacher, to discuss certain subjects, I could not allow 
any formality or fastidiousness of the pulpit, to prevent me from 
doing so with as much thoroughness and detail, as were com- 
patible with the gravity of the place. Thus, with regard to 
the first discourse— -on the Moral Law of Contracts — knowing, 
as I did know, that the consciences of men around me, were 
deeply involved in the questions that arose, I could not hesitate 
about going into the necessary specifications, however unusual, in 
preaching ; — the serious business of such a discourse, would not 
allow me to stand on pulpit ceremony, as to terms and phrases 
and instances. I could not well be understood without them ; 
and as the object of speaking is to be understood, I knew of no 



VI PREFACE. 

sanctity of time or place, that was to contravene the laws of 
that very instrument, speech, which I was using. 

I am not ignorant, at the same time, in what manner any 
thing unusual in the subjects or style of religious discourses is 
likely to be received. I know that there will be some readers, 
as there have been hearers of these discourses, to say, that a 
part of them would be more suitable for the Lyceum and lec- 
ture-room. Nay, I will confess, that in delivering them, I have 
had certain feelings of reluctance to contend with, in my own 
mind ; so powerful are old prepossessions against new or singu- 
lar views of duty. Since I understand the feeling of objection, 
therefore, will the kind reader who may entertain the same feel- 
ing, permit me to reason the matter a little with him and with 
myself, in the remainder of this preface ? 

Let me ask, in the first place, if our ideas of propriety in this 
case, are not very much matters of convention and usage ? If we 
had always been accustomed to hear discussions in our churches, 
on such subjects as the Morals of Traffic, of Politics, and of our 
social well-being as a nation — if the terms and phrases appro- 
priate to such subjects had found a place in the pulpit, should 
we ever have doubted their propriety ? It is observable, in- 
deed, that certain topics have forced their way into the pulpit, 
within the last quarter of a century, which, it is probable, sound- 
ed as questionably and strangely in ears accustomed only to the 
old scholastic preaching, as any grave moral topics can now. I 
allude to discussions on War and Peace, on Temperance, Abo- 
lition, and the various religious enterprises of the day. 

The question then is — what is the proper range of the pulpit ? 
What is the appropriate business of preaching ? The answer 
is plain — to address the public mind on its moral and religious 
duties and dangers. But what are its duties and dangers, and 
where are they to be found ? Are they not to be found wherev- 
er men are acting their part in life ? Are human responsi- 
bility and exposure limited to any one sphere of action — to the 
church or to the domestic circle — or to the range of the gross 
and sensual passions ? Are not men daily making shipwreck of 
their consciences in trade and politics ? And wheresoever con- 
science goes to work out its perilous problem, shall not the 
preacher follow it ? It is not very material, whether a man's 
integrity forsakes him at the polls in an election, or at the board 
of merchandise ; or at the house of rioting, or the gates whose 



PREFACE. VII 

way leadeth to destruction. Outwardly it may be different, but 
inwardly it is the same. In either case, the fall of the victim is 
the most deplorable of all things on earth ; and most fit, there- 
fore, for the consideration of the pulpit. I must confess, I can- 
not understand, by what process of enlightened reasoning and 
conscience, the preacher can come to the conclusion, that there 
are wide regions of moral action and peril around him, into 
which he may not enter, because such unusual words as, Com- 
merce, Society, Politics, are written over the threshold. 

Nay more ; is not the greatest possible disservice done to the 
highest interests of mankind, by this limitation as to subjects, un- 
der which the pulpit has laid itself. The confined and techni- 
cal character which belongs to the common administration of 
religion, does more than any thing else, in my apprehension, to 
disarm it of its power, I am not insensible, when I say this, to 
the greatness of those obstacles in the human heart and in hu- 
man life, with which it has to contend. I am not, now, measu- 
ring the strength of those obstacles, but simply considering the 
force that is brought to bear upon them. That force is moral, 
spiritual force ; and the leading form of it, in the public estima- 
tion, is preaching. The pulpit is the authorised expositor to 
men, of their duties. Those duties, it will not be denied, press 
upon every action and instant of human life. But what now, is 
the consideration which the pulpit generally, gives to this wide 
and busy field of duty ? Are not whole spheres of human ac- 
tion left out of the account ? With the exception of some occa- 
sional and wholesale denunciations, are not business, politics, 
amusements and fashionable society, passed by entirely ? Are 
not men left to say, when engaged in those scenes — " religion has 
nothing to do with us here ?" Do they not, naturally enough, 
feel that these engagements are, in a manner, set apart from all 
sense of duty ? Is it strange, then, that the public conscience is lax 
in these matters ? It seems to me, I must confess, rather a hard 
measure that the pulpit deals out to these departments of life, 
It never recognizes them as spheres of duty : it does nothing 
for the correction or culture of men's minds in them ; and yet, 
every now and then, it comes down upon their aberrations with 
cold, bitter and unsparing censure. 

Let me not be supposed to forget, that the pulpit has to deal 
with topics and questions of duty, that go down into the depths 
of the human heart — with faith, and repentance, and love, and 



Vlll PREFACE. 

self-denial, and disinterestedness — and that its principal busi- 
ness is thus to make the fountain pure. But religion has an out- 
ward form, as well as an inward spirit. That form is the whole 
lawful action of life. And to cut off half of that action from all 
public and positive recognition — what is it but to consign it over 
to irreligion, to unprincipled license, and worldly vanity ? 

There is time enough in the pulpit for all things. Nay, it 
wants variety. It is made dull by the restriction and reitera- 
tion of its topics. It would gain strength by a freer and fuller 
grasp of its proper objects. What it can do, I believe, yet re- 
mains to be seen. We complain of the corruptions of fashion 
and amusement, of business and politics. The calm, consider- 
ate, concentrated, universal attention of the pulpit, to these things, 
would, in one year, I believe, produce a decided and manifest 
effect. 

But the great evil, I am sensible, lies deeper — too deep for any 
sufficient consideration, within the narrow limits of a preface. 
The pulpit not only fails in this matter, but it fails on firincifile, 
and on a principle almost universally adopted. The evil is, that 
sermons, pulpits, priests — all the active agents that are laboring 
in the service of religion — are, by the public judgment as well 
as by their own choice, severed from the great mass of human 
actions and interests 



DISCOURSE I 



ON THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 



I THESSALONIANS IV. 6. That no man go beyond and 

DEFRAUD HIS BROTHER IN ANY MATTER. 

I propose to invite your attention in a series of 
three or four Sabbath evening discourses, to the moral 
laws of trade, the moral end of business, and to the 
moral principles which are to govern the accumulation 
of property. The first of these subjects, is proposed 
for your consideration this evening ; and it is one, as I 
conceive, of the highest interest and importance. 

This country presents a spectacle of active, absorb- 
ing, and prosperous business, which strikes the eye of 
every stranger, as its leading characteristic. We are 
said to be, and we are a people, beyond all others, 
devoted to business and accumulation. This, though 
it is often brought against us as a reproach, is really 
an inevitable result of our political condition. I trust 
that it is but the first development, and. that many bet- 
ter ones are to follow. It does, however, spring from 
our institutions ; and I hold, moreover, that it is hon- 
orable to them. If half of us were slaves, that half 
could have nothing to do with traffic. If half of us 
were in the condition of the peasantry of Europe, the 



10 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

business transactions of that half would be restricted 
within a narrow sphere, and would labor under a 
heavy pressure. But where liberty is given to each 
one to act freely for himself, and by all lawful means to 
better his condition, the consequence is inevitably 
what we see — an universal and unprecedented activ- 
ity among all the classes of society, in all the depart- 
ments of human industry. The moral principles then, 
applicable to the transaction of business have strong 
claims upon our attention ; and seem to me, very pro- 
per subjects of discussion in our pulpits. 

There are moral questions too, as we very well 
know, which actually do interest all reflecting and con- 
scientious men who are engaged in trade. They are 
very frequently discussed in conversation ; and very 
different "grounds are taken by the disputants. Some 
say that one principle is altogether right, and others, 
that another and totally different one is the only right 
principle. In such circumstances, it seems to me not 
only proper but requisite, for those whose office it is 
to speak to men of their duties, that they should take 
up the discussion of these as they would any other 
moral questions. I am obliged to confess that we are 
liable, scholastic and retired men as we are, to give 
some ground to men of business, for anticipating that 
our reasonings and conclusions will not be very prac- 
tical or satisfactory. I can only say, for myself, that I 
have, for some time, given patient and careful atten- 
tion to the moral principles of trade ; that I have 
often conversed with men of business that I might 
understand the practical bearings and difficulties 
of the subject ; that I have also read some of the 
books in which the morality of contracts is discussed ; 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 11 

and although a clergyman, I shall venture, with some 
confidence as well as modesty, to offer you my 
thoughts on the points in question. I say the points 
in question ; and I have intimated that there are points 
in debate, questions of conscience in business, which 
are brought into the most serious controversy. I have 
even known conscientious and sensible men, them- 
selves engaged in trade, to go to the length of assert- 
ing, not only that the principles of trade are immoral 
and unchristian, but that no man can acquire a pro- 
perty in this commerce without sacrificing a good con- 
science ; that no prosperous merchant can be a good 
Christian. I certainly think that such casuists are 
wrong ; but whether or not they are so, the principles 
which bring them to a conclusion so extraordinary, 
evidently demand investigation. 

In preparing to examine this opinion, and indeed to 
discuss the whole subject, it will not be improper to 
observe in the outset, that trade in some form, is the 
inevitable result of the human condition. Better, it 
has been said, on the supposition already stated — bet- 
ter that commerce should perish than Christianity ; 
but let it be considered whether commerce can per- 
ish. Nothing can be more evident than that the 
earth was formed to be the theatre of trade. Not on- 
ly does the ocean facilitate commerce, but the diver- 
sity of soils, climes, and products, requires it. So long 
as one district of country produces cotton, and another 
corn ; so long as one man lives by an ore-bed which 
produces iron, and another, on pasture-lands which 
grow wool, there must be commerce. In addition to 
this, let it be considered that all human industry inevi- 
tably tends to what is called " the division of labor." 



12 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

The savage who roams through the wilderness, may 
possibly, in the lowest state of barbarism, procure with 
his own hand all that suffices for his miserable ac- 
commodation, — the coat of skins that clothes, the food 
that sustains, and the hut that shelters him. But the 
moment that society departs from that state, there ne- 
cessarily arise the different occupations of shepherd, 
agriculturist, mechanic, and manufacturer ; the pro- 
ducts of whose industry are to be exchanged ; and 
this exchange is trade. If a single individual were to 
perform all the operations necessary to produce a 
piece of cloth, and yet more a garment of that cloth, 
the process would be exceedingly slow and expensive. 
Human intelligence necessarily avails itself of the 
facility, the dexterity, and the advantage every way, 
which are to be obtained by a division of labor. The 
very progress of society is indicated by the gradual 
and growing development of this tendency. 

Besides, it has been justly observed by a celebrated 
writer on this subject,* that " there is a certain propen- 
sity in human nature to truck, barter, and exchange 
one thing for another. It is common to all men," he 
says, " and to be found in no other race of animals, 
which seem to know neither this nor any other spe- 
cies of contracts. Nobody," he observes, " ever saw 
a dog make a fair and deliberate exchange of one bone 
for another, with another dog. Nobody ever saw one 
animal by its gestures and natural cries signify to an- 
other, this is mine, that yours ; I am willing to give 
this for that." 

Trade, then, being a part of the inevitable lot of 
cultivated humanity, the question is, not about abolish- 

*Adam Smith. 



THE MORAL LAW OP CONTRACTS. 13 

ing, but about the moral principles that are to regulate 
it. And the grand question which I propose now to 
examine is, the only one that presses upon the con- 
science, and therefore proper for discussion in the pul- 
pit ; and one, too, of daily recurrence — the question, 
that is, about the moral law of contracts. The ques- 
tion, to state it more definitely, is, whether, in making 
contracts, it is right for one party to take any advan- 
tage, or to make any use, and if any, what, of his supe- 
rior sagacity, information, or power of any kind ? 

Let us first inquire, how we are to settle this ques- 
tion ? What is the process of mind by which we are 
to ascertain and establish the moral laws of trade ? 

Does tile natural conscience declare them ? Is 
there any instinctive prompting of conscience, that can 
properly decide each case as it arises in the course of 
business ? Is there any voice within, that says clearly 
and with authority, " thou shalt do thus, and so T I 
think not. The cases are not many, in any depart- 
ment of action, where conscience thus reveals itself. 
But in business they are peculiarly rare, because the 
questions there, are unusually complicated. You offer 
to sell to your neighbor an article of merchandise. 
You are entitled of course — i. e. in ordinary circum- 
stances — to some advance upon what it cost you. But 
what that is, depends on many circumstances. Con- 
science will hardly mark down the just price in your 
account-book. Conscience, indeed, commands us to 
do right ; but the question is, what is right ? This i§ 
to be decided by views far more various and compre- 
hensive, than the simple sense of right and wrong. 

The Scriptures, like conscience, are a general direc- 
tory. They do not lay down any specific moral laws 



14 THE MORAL LAW OP CONTRACTS. 

of trade. They command us to be upright and hon- 
est ; but they leave us to consider what particular 
actions are required by those principles. They com- 
mand us to do unto others as we would have them do 
to us ; but still this is not specific. A man may un- 
reasonably wish that another should sell him a piece 
of goods at half its value. Does it follow that he him- 
self ought to sell on those terms 1 The truth is, that 
the golden rule, like every other in Scripture, is a gen- 
eral maxim. It simply requires us to desire the wel- 
fare of others, as we would have them desire ours. 
But the specific actions answering to that rule, it leaves 
us to determine by a wise discretion. The dictates of 
that discretion, under the governance of the moral law, 
are the principles that we seek to discover. 

Neither, on this subject, can I accept without ques- 
tion the teachings of the common law ; because, I find, 
that its ablest expounders acknowledge that its deci- 
sions are sometimes at variance with strict moral prin- 
ciple. I do not think it follows from this, that the gen- 
eral principles of the common law, are wrong, or abet 
wrong. Nay, I conceive that they may approach as 
near to rectitude as is possible in the circumstances, 
and yet necessarily involve some practical injustice in 
their operation. This results, in fact, from their very 
utility, their very perfection, as a body of laws. For it 
is requisite to their utility, that they should be general, 
that they should be derived from precedents and formed 
into rules ; else, men will not know what to depend 
upon, nor how to govern themselves ; and there would 
neither be confidence, nor order, nor society. But 
general rules must sometimes bear hard upon indivi- 
duals ; the very law which secures justice in a thou- 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 15 

sand cases, may, and perhaps must, from the very na- 
ture of human affairs and relationships, do injustice in 
one. Indeed, the law of chancery, or of equity, has 
been devised on purpose to give relief. But oven 
chancery has its rules which sometimes press injuri- 
ously upon individual interests ; and no human laws 
can attain to a perfect and unerring administration of 
justice. For this perfect justice, however, we seek. 
We are asking what it is to do no wrong to our fel- 
low-man, whether the law permits it or not. We are 
asking how we shall stand acquitted, not merely at the 
bar of our country, but at the bar of conscience and 
of God. 

I must add, in fine, that questions about right and 
wrong in the contracts of trade, are not to be decided 
by any hasty impulses of feeling, or suggestions of a 
generous temper. I have often found men, in conver- 
sation on this subject, appealing to their feelings ; but 
however much I have respected those feelings, it has 
seemed to me, that they w T ere not the proper tribunal. 
Nay, they have often appeared to me to mistake the 
point at issue. If a merchant has a large store of pro- 
visions in a time of scarcity, would it not be a very 
noble and praise-worthy thing, it is said, for him to dis- 
pose of his stock, without enhancing the price ? But 
the proper question is not, what is generous, but what 
is just. And besides, he cannot be generous, or what 
is the same thing in effect, he cannot establish a gen- 
erous principle in the distribution of his store. For if 
he sells in large quantities, selling, that is, at a low 
rate, it will avail nothing, because the subordinate 
dealers will raise the price. Or, if he undertakes to sell 
to each family what it wants ; any one of them may 



16 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

take the article to the next warehouse, and dispose of 
it at the enhanced price. On the contrary, there are 
circumstances, undoubtedly, in which a man may take 
undue advantage of a monopoly ; but this will be a 
case for future consideration. For the present, it is 
sufficient to observe, what I think must be obvious, that 
the great question before us is to be decided, not by 
any enactments of law, nor any immediate dictate of 
conscience, or specific teaching of Scripture, or single 
impulse of good feeling, but by broad and large views 
of the whole subject. Conscience, and Scripture, and 
right feeling are to govern usf but it is only under the 
guidance of sound reasoning. 

Let me beg your indulgence to one or two further 
preliminary observations. The questions to be dis- 
cussed are of great importance, and scarcely of less dif- 
ficulty. It is hardly possible to overrate the impor- 
tance of a high, and at the same time, just tone of com- 
mercial morality. I am addressing merchants and 
young men, who are to be the future merchants of this 
city and country. I am addressing them on the moral- 
ity of their daily lives, on the principles that are to 
form their character for time, and eternity ; and while 
I task myself to speak with the utmost care and de- 
liberation, I shall not be thought unreasonable, I trust, 
if I invite the patient attention of those who hear me, 
to share in the task. 

There is then, on this subject, a distinction to be 
made between principles and rules. Principles, the 
principles that is to say of truth, justice and benefi- 
cence, are clear and immutable ; the only difficulty is 
about the application of them — i. e. about rules. Prin- 
ciples, I say, are to be set apart, at once and entirely, 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 17 

from all doubt and uncertainty. They hold their place 
on high, like unchanging lights in the heavens. The 
only question is, how, in obedience to their direction, 
we are faithfully and surely to work our traverse across 
the troubled ocean of business. Here, I say, is all the 
difficulty. Rules, I repeat, result from the application 
of principles to human conduct, and they must be 
affected by the circumstances to which they relate. 
Thus, it is an immutable principle in morals, that I 
should love my neighbor, my fellow-being, and desire 
to promote his happiness. This principle admits of 
no qualification ; it can suffer no abatement in any 
circumstances. But when I come to consider what I 
shall do in obedience to this principle ; what I shall do 
for the poor, the sick, or the distressed ; by what acts 
I shall show my kindness to my neighbor, or my inter- 
est in the welfare of the world, — when, in other words, 
I come to consider the rules of my conduct, I am 
obliged at once to admit doubts and difficulties. The 
abstract principle cannot be my law, without any re- 
gard to circumstances, though some moral reformers 
w r ould make it such. I must go on the right line of 
conduct, it is true, but where that line shall lead me, 
is to be determined by a fair consideration of the cases 
that come before me. If it is not, I shall contravene 
the very principle on which I am acting. If, for in- 
stance, I do nothing but give, give to the poor, I shall 
be doing them an injury, not a kindness. The great 
law of benevolence, in fact, as truly requires discre- 
tion as it enforces action. 

This distinction fully applies to the subject we are 
about to examine. Rectitude, justice, benevolence, 
truth-telling, are immutable laws of trade, as they 
2* 



18 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

are of all human conduct. There is no certain extent 
to which they go ; they apply without limit to every 
department and every transaction in business ; they 
are never to be contravened. But in laying down 
practical rules for traffic, we immediately meet with 
difficulties, and are obliged to leave a great deal to the 
honest judgment of the trader. He must do right, in- 
deed ; that is the great law ; but what is right 1 Let 
us now more nearly approach this question, having nar- 
rowed it down to a question about rules, and more 
closely apply ourselves to the difficulties involved in it. 
And here, I must ask you to consider as a further and 
final preliminary topic, the language of the legal wri- 
ters on this subject. It is common w T ith those writers 
to make a distinction between moral and legal justice ; 
or, in other words, between the demands of conscience 
and the decisions of their courts. Conscience, for in- 
stance, demands that a certain contract shall be 
annulled, because there was some concealment or de- 
ception, but the courts will not annul it, unless the 
injury be very great. In short, it is a matter of de- 
grees. Up to a certain extent, the law will, in fact, 
protect a man in doing what is wrong, in doing that 
which violates his conscience ; beyond a certain ex- 
tent, it will not protect him. This distinction is founded 
on the policy of the law, and the policy of trade. " In 
law," says Pothier, " a party will not be permitted to 
complain of slight offences, which he, with whom a con- 
tract is made, has committed against good faith ; other- 
wise there would be too many contracts to be rescind- 
ed ; which would open the way for too much litigation, 
and would derange commerce."* And again, "the 

* Traits des Obligations, Part I. ch.'l. Sec 1. Ki U 3. § 3. 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 19 

interests of commerce will not easily permit parties to 
escape from bargains which they have concluded ; 
they must lay the blame to their not having been better 
informed concerning the defects of the article sold."* 
And again he says, "this rule is wisely established for 
the security and freedom of commerce, which demand 
that no one should easily be off from his bargains; 
otherwise men would not dare to make contracts, for 
fear that he with whom they had bargained, should 
imagine that he was injured, and upon that ground 
(of mere imagination or pretence) should commence 
an action." Hence, Pothier says, that the wrong of 
which the courts will take cognizance, must be an 
enormous wrong, f 

Now there is, doubtless, a certain expediency here ; 
a certain policy of trade, a certain policy of the law. 
It is expedient that a fair field be opened in business 
for ingenuity, sagacity and attention ; and that igno- 
rance, indolence and neglect, should meet with loss. 
" The common law," says Chancellor Kent, " affords 
to every one, reasonable protection against fraud in 
dealing ; but it does not go the romantic length of giv- 
ing indemnity against the consequences of indolence 
and folly, or a careless indifference to the ordinary and 
accessible means of information."J 

What is the nature, and what is the amount of this 
concession to expediency ? Let us carefully consider 
this question, for much depends upon it. 

Legal expediency, then, is not to be so construed as 
to warrant the supposition, that it lends a sanction to 

* Traits du Contrat de vente, Part. II. ch. 2. Art. 2. 

t Traits des Obligations, Part. I. ch. 1. Sec. 1, Art, 3. § 4. 

% Commentaries, 



20 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

what is wrong. It may, from necessity, permit or pro- 
tect fraud, but does not abet it. A man is not to con- 
sider himself an honest man, simply because the law 
gives him deliverance. For the law cannot take cog- 
nizance of the secret intentions, nor of slight deviations 
from truth. If every man who says he has got a bad 
bargain, and who thinks he has been cheated, could be 
heard in court, our tribunals would be overwhelmed 
with business. No human tribunal can descend to the 
minutiae of injustice. But the law, I repeat, does not 
sanction what it does not undertake to prevent, any 
more than the infinite providence sanctions those 
abuses which arise from its great law of freedom. 

This being the nature of the concession to expedi- 
ency — no principle being compromised — we may say, 
that the extent of the concession must be considerable. 
It is certainly expedient that every man be put upon 
his own discretion, sagacity and attention, for success. 
In business, as in every thing else, a premium is set upon 
these qualities by the hand of providence. It is expe- 
dient, in other words, that every man should take care 
of himself. Others are not to step forward at every turn 
to rescue him from the consequences of his indolence 
or inattention. The seller is not required to give his 
opinion to the buyer. If he knows of any defect in his 
merchandise, not apparent to the buyer, he is bound 
to state it ; but he is not required to give his opinion. 
The buyer has no business to ask it of him ; he is to 
form an opinion for himself. If he is relieved from 
doing this, he will always remain in a sort of mercan- 
tile childhood. 

Nor do I know that there is any thing m Scripture, 
or in the laws of human brotherhood, that forbids thi3 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 21 

honest, not fraudulent, but honest competition between 
men's exertions, faculties and wits. We are indeed 
to do to others as we would have them do to us ; but 
we ought not to wish them to do any thing to us, which 
is inconsistent with the general welfare of the commu- 
nity, with the lawful and necessary stimulants to 
action. We may have unreasonable desires : we would, 
perhaps, that our rich neighbor should present us with 
half of his fortune ; but unreasonable desires are 
not the measure of our duties. Not whatever we 
wish, but what we lawfully wish from others, should 
we do to them. And lawfully, we can no more wish 
that they should give to our indolence and negligence, 
the benefit of their sagacity and alertness in making a 
contract, than that they would give to our poverty the 
half of that wealth, which their superior industry or 
talent had earned for them. Thus, too, when it is 
said that we ought to treat all men as brethren ; it is 
true, indeed, so far as that relation is expressive of the 
general relationships of society. But while there 
should be a brotherly community of feeling, there can- 
not be a brotherly identity of interests between the 
members of society ; and, therefore, they are not bound 
to deal with one another as if they belonged to a com- 
munity of Shakers, or of New Harmony men. We 
are not to break down the principle of individuality, 
of individual interests, of individual aims ; while at the 
same time, we are to hold it in subjection to the laws 
of sacred honesty, and of a wise philanthropy. 

Besides, it is not only expedient and right, but it is 
inevitable, that individual power and talent should 
come into play in business. A man's sagacity, it is 
obvious, he must use — that is to sav, his mind he must 



22 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

use — for he has nothing else to go by. He may use it 
unjustly, to the heinous injury of his weaker neighbor ; 
but still he must use it. So also w r ith regard to the 
power acquired by a large property, or by a mono- 
poly, it is inevitable that it should be used. To some 
extent, the possessor cannot help using it. Wealth 
has credit ; and monopoly, usually implying scarcity, 
carries an enhanced price with it ; and such results 
are unavoidable. Finally, superior actual knowledge, 
may, and must be used, to some extent. In every de- 
partment of business, superior knowledge is gained by 
attention, and it may and must be acted upon ; albeit 
to the hurt or injury of those who know less, or have 
devoted less time and thought to the subject. A man 
has made an improvement in some machinery or man- 
ufacture, and he is entitled to some reward for the 
attention he has given to it ; the government will give 
him a patent. A man has been to India or to South 
America, to acquaint himself with a certain branch of 
business, and he comes home and acts upon his know- 
ledge, and he has a perfect right to do so. He is not 
bound to communicate his knowledge to his brother 
merchants who are engaged in the same trade ; and, 
perhaps, his knowledge so much depends upon actual 
observation and experience, that he cannot communi- 
cate it. In like manner, a trader may obtain a supe- 
rior knowledge of business and of the facts on which 
it depends, by a close observation of things immediately 
around him, and he must act upon it ; he cannot em- 
ploy himself in going about to see whether other men 
have got the same enlarged views. Nor have other 
men any right to complain of this. The unskilful 
painter or sculptor, the ignorant lawyer or physician 



THE MORAL LAW OP CONTRACTS. 23 

might as well complain, that their more distinguished 
brethren were injuring their business, and taking all the 
prizes out of their hands. 

I have thus attempted to set forth the claims of in- 
dividual enterprise, as having a useful, a beneficent 
tendency. These claims, I have all along implied, are 
subject to certain limitations. And these limitations 
are set by the laws of honesty and philanthropy. 
That is to say, a man may pursue his own interest ; 
he may use his endeavor, sagacity, ability; but, in the 
first place, he shall not pursue any traffic or make any 
contract to the injury of his neighbor; unless that in- 
jury is one that inevitably results from a general and 
good principle— that is to say, from the healthful ac- 
tion of business ; and, in the next place, he shall not 
pursue his own ends to the extent of committing any 
fraud. 

This last limitation is the one of the most palpable 
importance, and demands that we should dwell upon 
it a moment. What then is a fraud in contracts ? In 
order to answer the question, let us ask what is a 
contract ? A contract is a mutual engagement, to ex- 
change certain goods for other goods, or certain goods 
for money, and the essence of the engagement lies in 
the supposed equivalency of the things that are ex- 
changed. This results from the very nature of the 
case and of the human mind. For it is not the part 
of a rational being to give more for less. If you 
bargain away any thing to your neighbour, you, of 
course, seek from him what to you is equivalent. 
But how are you to judge of this equivalency; 
of the value, that is to say, of the article offered 
to you ? There are two grounds on which you 



24 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

may judge. You may know the article as well as the 
seller, you may know as much about it ; every way, 
as he does. This is ordinarily the case between 
trader and trader. But between the merchant and 
the rest of the world, this is usually not the case. And 
here the ground on which you proceed is, that of confi- 
dence in the good faith of the seller. You could make 
up no satisfactory opinion on the value of the article 
offered to you, if you did believe that it is what it 
purports to be, what it appears to be, what the price 
indicates it to be. If, then, there is any secret defect 
in the article not apparent to you, or if there is any 
circumstance unknown to you, materially affecting 
its value, or if the price set upon it is any other than 
the market price, there is fraud. Wherever the con- 
tracting parties stand in totally different relations to 
the matter in hand, the one knowing something — 
some secret, which the other does not and can- 
not know, there is fraud. The contract is morally 
vitiated. The obvious conditions of a contract are 
not complied with. It is well known by one of the par- 
ties that the grand condition — that of equivalency — 
does not exist in the case. 

Let us now look back, for a moment, upon the 
ground which we have passed over in this preliminary 
discussion. I have, in the first place, attempted to 
show that no single suggestion or dictate of con- 
science, or scripture, or of generous feeling, or of the 
law, is sufficient to solve the moral questions that 
arise in trade. In the next place, I have said that 
there is a distinction to be made between principles 
and rules; the principles of moral conduct being clear 
and certain ; the rules only, the specific actions under 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 25 

these principles, that is to say — being liable to doubt. 
I thus wished to set one department of this subject 
above all question. In the third place, I applied my- 
self to the consideration of rules. And here I attempt- 
ed to show that while, on the one hand, it is expedi- 
ent that ample scope be given to human ingenuity, 
sagacity and alertness in business, yet, on the other 
hand, that they are never to transgress the bounds of 
philanthropy, honesty and justice. 

Let us now proceed to examine some of the cases 
to which these general reasonings apply. 

L The first is the ordinary case of buying and 
selling, i. e. under ordinary circumstances. 

And here, it is expedient and necessary, that men 
in their dealings with one another should be put to the 
use of their senses and faculties. There is a discre- 
tion and there is a duty proper, respectively, to the 
seller and to the buyer. Each of them has his part 
to act, his business to attend to, and neither of them 
is bound to assume the duty of the other. In ordi- 
nary cases there is no difficulty with this maxim, no 
temptation to dishonesty, no possibility of deception. 

The article is open to inspection ; its qualities are 
as obvious to the buyer as to the seller. The buyer is 
supposed to know his own business, his own occa- 
sions ; the buyer is fairly supposed best to know what 
the article is worth to him, not the seller ; and it is for 
him to decide, whether he will purchase, and what he 
will give. The seller cannot be expected to enter into 
the circumstances of the buyer, and to ascertain by 
inquiry what he intends to do with the article he pur- 
chases ; whether he can turn it to good account ; or whe- 
ther he could not buy more advantageously somewhere 

3 



26 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS, 

else ; all this belongs to the province of the buyer ; it 
is his business to settle all these questions. And he is 
not only best able to decide them, but he is as competent 
to judge of the quality of the goods which are offered 
him, as the seller, for they are alike open to the in- 
spection of both. 

This free action, this competition, we have already 
said, is to be restrained in trade as in every thing else, 
by perfect fairness and honesty. At that point in our 
preliminary discussion, the theoretical question about 
the nature of a contract presented itself; in our 
present inquiry, the natural and practical question is 
about price. What is the just price of an article? A 
man has something to sell ; he wishes to deal honest- 
ly ; the question then is, what shall he ask for it ? If 
he can settle this question, all is plain. How shall he 
settle it ? What is it that determines a price to be just ? 
Evidently, not any abstract consideration of value. 
There can be no such thing as abstract value. The 
worth of a thing depends on the want of it. Original- 
ly, it is true ; i. e. in the first rude state of society, 
men, in exchanging the products of their labor, would 
naturally estimate the value of each article by the la- 
bour required to produce it. But even this estimate, 
though approaching nearest to it, would not present 
us with an abstract and absolute value ; and it would 
soon be disturbed by circumstances, effectually and 
beyond recovery. Labor would not be an accurate 
measure of value, because one man's labor, through 
its energy and ingenuity, would be worth far more 
than another man's. That primitive rule, too, in- 
accurate as it is, would soon, I repeat, be disturbed 
by circumstances. For, suppose that one man had 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 27 

manufactured axes and another, shoes ; circumstances 
would inevitably arise that would give one or ano- 
ther of these articles, a factitious value. In the winter 
season when protection was needed for the person, 
and in the summer which was favorable to the felling 
of timber, the value of those articles must be con- 
stantly fluctuating ; it would be factitious ; it could not 
be determined by the amount of labor. And as we 
depart farther from those primitive exchanges, we find 
circumstances, numerous, complicated and very arti- 
ficial, which affect value. The wants, fancies and 
fashions of society ; the state of crops and markets, 
and of trade all over the world ; the variations of the 
seasons ; the success or failure of fisheries ; improve- 
ments in machinery ; discoveries in art ; and the regu- 
lations of governments — all these things and many 
more, conspire alternately to fix and disturb from day 
to day, that ever fluctuating thing called price. It is 
not any one man's judgment or conscience that can 
ascertain the value of any thing, but millions of indivi- 
dual judgments go to make up the decision. It is in 
vain to say that such and such things are worth little 
or nothing ; that they are unnecessary or useless, or 
that they confer no advantage proportionate to their 
cost — that is not the question. What will they fetch? 
is the question. You may, in a fit of generosity, or 
a scruple of conscience, sell them for less ; but the mo- 
ment they are out of your hands, they will rise to the 
level of the market ; you have lost the difference, and 
gained nothing for your generous principle. In fine, 
the value of a thing is the market price of it. This is 
the only intelligible idea of value ; and the only 
reasonable adjustment of price. It is certainly most 



28 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

likely to be reasonable ; for a multitude of judgments 
have been employed upon it, and have settled it. It is 
the legislative voice of the whole world ; and it would 
be as unjust and inexpedient as it is impossible, to 
resist it. 

The way of honesty, then, in the ordinary" course of 
traffic, seems to be very clear. The terms on which 
w T e are to buy and sell, are established for us by a 
very obvious rule. In a general view, we may say, 
that conscience has nothing to do with affixing a price. 
That is determined by a thousand circumstances and 
a million voices. The trader must buy at the market 
price, and he must sell accordingly. He does not de- 
termine the price, but the suffrage of a whole city or 
of twenty cities, determines it. All that conscience has 
to do with price therefore is, not to go beyond the usage 
of the market. And for the rest, the rule is, to make 
no false representation, and to conceal no latent defect. 

In this view, the moral course in almost the entire 
business of trade, seems to be exceedingly plain ; and 
certainty it is most grateful to reflect that it is so. He 
that runs may read. No man needs to carry with 
him, in regard to most of the transactions of business, 
a disturbed or a doubtful conscience. 

But still cases will arise for a nicer casuistry. The 
market price is indeed the rule ; but there is monopoly 
that makes a market price, and there is superior in- 
formation that takes undue advantage of it. These 
are the qases that remain to be examined. 

II. The next case, then, to be considered in the 
morals of business, is monopoly. This may arise in 
two ways ; intentionally, from combination on the part 
of several traders, or a plan oil the part of one ; and 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 29 

unintentionally, where it falls out in the natural and 
unforced course of trade. It is from confounding 
these two cases together, perhaps, that a peculiar pre- 
judice is felt in the community against monopoly. 
That a man should set himself by dexterous manage- 
ment to get into his possession all the corn in market, 
in order to extort an enormous price for it, is felt to 
be oppressive and wrong. But there is often a mono- 
poly, to a greater or less degree, resulting from simple 
scarcity ; and in this case, that enhancement of price 
which is so odious, is perfectly inevitable. Nay, it 
may be even beneficial. For high prices lessen con- 
sumption, and may prevent famine. But at any rate, 
high prices in a time of scarcity are inevitable. Even 
if all the corn, or all the coal were in the hands of one 
man ; and he should sell the half of his stock to the 
wholesale dealers at a moderate rate, and hold the re- 
mainder at the same rate to keep the price down, still, 
I say, the moment the article left his hands, the law of 
scarcity would prevail and raise the price. Mono- 
poly, therefore, compels, and of course, justifies an 
enhanced price. The same principle which applies to 
every other commodity, applies to that commodity 
called money. And it is only from the habit of consid- 
ering money not as a commodity, but as a possession 
of some peculiar and magical value, that any prejudice 
can exist against what is called usurious interest ; 
saving and excepting when that interest goes beyond 
all bounds of reason and humanity. The practice of 
usury has acquired a bad name from former and still 
occasional abuses of it. But the principle must still 
be a just one, that money, in common with every thing 
else, is worth what it will fetch. 
3* 



30 THE MOHAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

This, I know, is denied. It is denied, especially, 
that money is, or is to be regarded, like other commo- 
dities in trade. It is said that money is the creature 
of the government ; that the mint, when stamping it 
with the government impress, stamps it with a pe- 
culiar character, and separates it entirely from the 
general condition of a commodity. It is said, too, that 
the common representative of money — that the bank- 
note — that credit, in other words — is exposed to such 
expansion and contraction, and management and con- 
spiracy, that it is peculiarly liable to be used for the 
injury of the necessitous and unwary. 

Let us separate this last allegation from our discus- 
sion for a moment, and consider the question alone, 
as it affects the use of money in the form of bullion. 
And I know of no better way of considering ques- 
tions of this sort, than to resolve them into their sim- 
ple forms, by going back to the origin of society, or 
taking for example, a small and isolated community. 
At least, we come to the theory of the questions by 
this means, and can then consider what modifica- 
tions are required by more artificial and complicated 
interests. 

Suppose then a community of an hundred families, 
cut off from the rest of the world, engaged in the va- 
rious callings of life, accustomed to barter, but not ac- 
customed to the use of money. Suppose, now, that a 
gold-mine were discovered. The metal is found to 
be very valuable for various purposes ; and, like ever)^ 
thing else, it takes its value in the market ; an ounce 
of it is exchanged for so many bushels of corn or 
yards of cloth. But the permanent and universal 
value of this metal, and its being so. portable and inde- 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 31 

structible, would, ere long, very naturally bring it into 
use as a circulating medium ; the farmer would know 
that if he sold corn for it, he could buy cloth with it 
in another part of the district, and would be glad thus 
to be saved the trouble and expense of transporting 
the produce of his farm to the distant manufactory. 
In this exchange, the lumps of gold of course would 
be weighed, and it would be natural to stamp the 
weight upon each lump. But another step would fol- 
low from all this. As there would be the trouble of 
constantly weighing this circulating medium, and the 
danger of mistake and deception, the community would 
appoint a committee, or depute its government, if it 
had one, to do this very thing ; and the metal would 
be cast into various quantities, bearing distinct denom- 
inations, to answer more fully the purposes of a con- 
venient circulating medium. Here, then, we have a 
mint, and here we have money. Nobody will deny 
that it was a commodity when each man dug it from 
the earth, and exchanged it at his pleasure. But the 
action of the government confers no peculiar charac- 
ter on it. The government simply weighs the metal, 
and affixes, as it were, a label to it ; i. e., stamps it as 
coin, to tell what it is worth. It does not create this 
value, but simply indicates it. 

I am sensible that many questions may still be ask- 
ed, but I have not space here, if I had ability, to enter 
into them ; and besides, if this is just theory of the 
value of the specie currency, it may itself suggest the 
necessary answers. But the great practical difficulties 
arise from the use of a paper currency. If the paper 
were strictly the representative of gold and silver — if 
the issue of bank-notes did not exceed the specie actu- 



32 THE MORAL LAW OP CONTRACTS. 

ally in vault, and thus were used only for convenience, 
the same principles would apply as before. All other 
paper does not represent money but credit ; i. e., it 
represents the presumed ability of a man to pay what 
he promises ; not his known and ascertained property. 
And the question is, may credit be bought and sold in 
the market like any commodity ? 

Let us again attempt to simplify the question. You 
want money, let us suppose, and you go to a money- 
lender, and ask for it. He says, " I have not the mon- 
ey, but I shall have it a month hence, and I will give 
my note, payable at that time." This may answer the 
purpose with your creditor, and the question now is, 
what interest shall you pay ? Shall credit take its 
place in the market like money, or like a commodity ? 
Shall we say that the government has no business to 
interfere in this matter, with its usury laws, obliging a 
man to sell his paper for seven per cent. ? Shall we 
say that all this ought to be left to regulate itself, and 
that every man shall be left free to act according to 
his pleasure? 

I certainly feel some hesitation, from deference for 
the opinions of some able men who are more studious 
in these matters than I am, about answering this ques- 
tion in the affirmative. There are relations and bear- 
ings of that immense and complicated subject, the 
monetary system, which I may not understand, and 
usury, perhaps, is connected with that system in ways 
that are beyond my comprehension. But looking at 
the question now, in the light of simple justice, sepa- 
rating all unlawful combination and conspiracy from 
the case, and all deception and dishonesty— I cannot 
see why a man has not a right to sell his credit for 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 33 

what another is willing to give for it. If a lawyer has 
so elevated himself above his brethren, that his opinion 
is worth not twenty but five hundred per cent more 
than theirs, he takes that advance for his counsel. 
Why then, shall not a merchant, who by the same la- 
borious means, has acquired a fortune and a high 
commercial reputation, be allowed a similar advan- 
tage ? 

We say, why should he not dispose of his credit, or 
in other words, pledge his property at such prices as 
it will naturally bear ? But the truth is, that he can- 
not prevent this result, let him do what he will. He 
may sell his paper at one half per cent a month, but the 
moment it is out of his hands, it will rise to two or 
three per cent, if that be its real value. I say nothing 
now about obedience to the usury laws ; I do not 
touch the point of conscience in that respect ; but I 
believe that the laws themselves are both impolitic and 
unjust ; unjust, because they conflict with the real 
value of things ; and impolitic, because they never 
were, and never can be executed, and in fact, because 
they only increase the rates of interest by increasing 
the risk. 

But is there, then, no limit it may be said, to the 
advantage which one man may take of the necessities 
of another ? To ask this question in regard to the 
lender of money, is but the same thing as to ask it in 
regard to the man, in every other relationship of life. 
The duties of humanity, of philanthropy,. of natural 
affection can never be abrogated by any circum- 
stances, and the only question is, what line of conduct 
in the case before us, is conformable to those duties. 
That question cannot, I think, be brought within the 



34 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS, 

compass of any assignable rules ; and must be left for 
every man, seriously to consider for himself. He is 
put upon his conscience in this respect, as he is in every 
other case in life. 

III. But the hardest case to determine, is that on 
which the question is raised, about the use of superior 
information. And perhaps this question cannot be bet- 
ter stated than in the celebrated case put by Cicero.* 
A corn merchant of Alexandria, he says, arrived at 
Rhodes in a time of great scarcity, w T ith a cargo of 
grain, and with knowledge that a number of other 
vessels laden with corn, had already sailed from Alex- 
andria for Rhodes, and which he had passed on the 
passage — was he bound in conscience to inform the 
buyers of that fact? Cicero decides that he was. 
Several modern writers on law dissent from his 
opinion — as Grotius, Puifendorf, and Pothier himself, 
though with very careful qualifications, f 

It appears to me, that the answer to Cicero's ques- 
tion, must depend on the views which are taken of a 
contract. If a contract is a mere arbitrary conven- 
tion, if business is a game, a mere contest of men's 
wits, if every man has a right to make the best bar- 
gain he can, if society really has power to ordain 
that such shall be the laws of trade, then the decision 
will be one way. But if a contract implies in its very 
nature the obligation of fair dealing and truth-telling, 
then the decision will be the other way. The suppo- 
sition is, that the Alexandrine trader concealed a cer- 
tain fact, for the sake of asking a price which he knew 



* Pe Officiis, Lib. 3. Sec. 12-lf. 

f Traite du Contrat de vente, Part. XL ch. 2. Art 3, 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 35 

would not have been given, had that fact been public 
Now what is implied in asking a price ? What does 
a man say, when he sets a certain price on his mer- 
chandise ? Does he, or does he not say, that the price 
he asks is, in his opinion, the fair value of the article ? 
I think he does. If you did not so understand him, 
you would not trade with him. If you observed a 
lurking sneer on his lip, such as there must be in his 
heart, when he knows that he is taking you in, you 
would have nothing to do with him. The very trans- 
action, called a contract, implies that degree of good 
faith. If this be true, if it is universally understood 
that he who asks a price, professes in that very act to 
ask a just and fair price, and if, moreover, he has a let- 
ter in his pocket assuring and satisfying him that it is 
not the just price ; then he is guilty of falsehood. If 
the Alexandrine trader had asked a price, graduated 
exactly by his opinion of the probability that other ves- 
sels would soon arrive, and of the amount of the sup- 
ply they would bring, his conduct would have been 
fair and honest. But if he had concealed facts within 
his knowledge, for the sake of asking an enormous 
price, or any price beyond what he knew to be the 
fair value, he would be guilty of falsehood and dis- 
honesty. And the reason is, I repeat, that the very 
basis of a contract is mutual advantage ; that its very 
essence lies in a supposed equivalency ; that he who 
sets a price is understood to say as much as this, " I 
think the article is worth it." And if you allow a man 
to swerve from this truth and good faith at all, where 
will you stop ? Suppose that the people of Rhodes 
had been suffering the horrors of famine, and the 
Alexandrine merchant had taken advantage of their 



36 THE MORAL LAW OP CONTRACTS* 

situation to exact from them all their disposable proper- 
ty as the price of life, and had borne off that mass of 
treasure, all the while knowing that bountiful supplies 
were at hand — what should we have said ? We should 
have said that his perfidy was equal to his cruelty — 
that he was both a pirate and a villain. But if a man 
may be guilty of falsehood in one degree, what prin- 
ciple is to prevent his being guilty of it in another ? I 
know what may be said on the other hand. The mas- 
ter of the Alexandrine ship, it may be said, had outstrip- 
ped the others, by superior sailing ; and this superiority, 
in the management of his ship, may have been the 
fruit of a whole life of industry and ingenuity. He 
had also been on the alert, it may be supposed ; had 
watched the course of the markets while others slept, 
and had been ready with his supply to meet the ex- 
igency which all others — even the Rhodians them- 
selves, had been too dull to foresee. Is he not entitled 
to some premium for all this ? Nay, but for the pros- 
pect held out of such a reward, the Rhodians might 
have starved. And yet if he gives the information in 
question, he loses the premium. No, the merchants 
of Rhodes say, " we will wait till to-morrow." But 
again ; to-morrow comes ; the vessels arrive ; the mar- 
ket is glutted ; and the Alexandrine trader loses mon- 
ey on his voyage. Will the merchants of Rhodes 
make it up to him, on account of his generosity in 
giving them the information ? Not at all. " We buy 
at the market price," they say ; " we cannot afford any 
more ; if we give more we are losers ;" and thus the 
Alexandrine by neglecting his own interests, and tak- 
ing care of other people, loses not only his voyage, but 
his whole fortune perhaps, and becomes a bankrupt ; 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 37 

and by becoming a bankrupt, he injures those he is most 
bound to serve — his confiding friends, and beggared 
family. All this is a very good reason, to be sure, why 
the Alexandrine trader should be rewarded for his 
exertions, but it is not any good reason, nor can there 
ever be any good reason, why a man should tell a 
falsehood, why he should make a false impression, 
why he should deceive his neighbor. 

Do we then propose to reduce the wise and the ig- 
norant, the sagacious and the stupid, the attentive and 
the negligent, the active and the indolent, to the same 
level 1 Must the intelligent and the enterprising 
merchant raise up his dull and careless neighbor, to 
his own point of view, before he may deal with him ? 
Certainly not. Let a wide field be opened, only pro- 
vided that the boundaries be truth and honesty. Let 
the widest field for activity and freedom of action be 
spread, which these boundaries can enclose. 

Indeed, a man must act in trade upon some opinion. 
That opinion must be founded on some knowledge. 
And that knowledge he may properly seek. Nay, and 
he may use it, to any extent, not implying deception or 
dishonesty. Nor are the cases frequent, in which com- 
mercial operations possess any such definite or extra- 
ordinary character, as admits of deception. It does 
not often happen that any great advantage is, or can 
be taken of complete and unsuspecting ignorance. 
Men are wary. They will not make questionable 
sales, when a packet ship from abroad is in the of- 
fing. They are set to guard their own interests, and 
they do guard them. They must assume some re- 
sponsibilities in this way ; they must take some risks. 
They are liable to err in opinion, and they must take 

4 



38 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

such chance as human imperfection ordains for them. 
Business, like every other scene of human life, is a 
theatre for imperfection, for error, for effort, for opin- 
ion, and for their results. I do not see how it can pos- 
sibly be otherwise, and therefore, I consider it as ap- 
pointed to be so. Undue advantage may be taken of 
this state of things by the selfish, grasping, and uncon- 
scientious ; right principles may be wrested to the ac- 
complishment of wrong ends ; a system of commer- 
cial morality may be good for the community, and yet 
may be abused by individuals : all tins is true ; and 
yet the doctrine which applies every where else must 
apply here, that abuse fairly argues nothing against use. 
Let us see how the case would stand if it were oth- 
erwise : let us see what the assumption on the part of 
the trading community, that no man should ever act in 
any way on superior information, w r ould amount to. 
" We may sleep," they would say, " we need not take 
any pains to inform ourselves of the state of the mar- 
kets ; we need not take a step from our own door. 
If our neighbor comes to trade with us, he must first 
inform us of every thing affecting the price of our 
goods. He makes himself very busy ; and he shall 
have his labor for his pains ; for the rule now is, that 
indolence is to fare as well as activity, and vigilance is 
to have no advantage over supineness and sloth." Sup- 
pose, then, that the vigilant and active man is up be- 
times, and goes down upon the wharf, or to the news- 
room, and becomes apprized of facts that affect the 
price of his goods ; he must not go about selling, till 
he has stepped into the shop of his indolent neighbor, 
and perhaps, of half a dozen such, to inform them < if the 
state of things ; for, although he does not directly trade 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 39 

with them, yet, by underselling or selling for more, in 
consequence of superior information, he injures them 
just as much as if he did : i. e., he takes profits out of the 
hands of the slothful, by acting on his superior know- 
ledge. But now enlarge the sphere of the compari- 
son. There is no real difference in the principle be- 
tween a man's going down to the wharf, and his going 
to Europe, for information. And if, by superior activ- 
ity, by building better ships and better manning them, 
he is accustomed to get earlier advices of the state of 
foreign markets, I see not, but as a general principle, 
a principle advantageous to commerce, and encour- 
aging to human industry and ingenuity, he must be 
allowed to avail himself of those advices. The law of 
general expediency must be a law for the conscience. 
It is expedient that there should be commerce or bar- 
ter ; nay, it is inevitable. It is expedient that indus- 
try and attention should be rewarded, and that negli- 
gence and sloth should suffer loss. It is expedient, 
therefore, that all that sagacity, power and information, 
which are the result of superior talent, energy and 
ingenuity, should yield certain advantages to their pos- 
sessor. These advantages he may push beyond the 
bounds of reason and justice ; but w T e must not, on that 
account, be deterred from maintaining a principle 
which is right ; a principle which is expedient and ne- 
cessary for the whole community. 

And is not the same principle, in fact, adopted in 
every department of human pursuit ? Two men en- 
gage in a certain branch of manufactures. The one, 
by his attention and ingenuity makes discoveries in his 
art, and thus gains advantages over his indolent or 
dull neighbor. Is he obliged to impart to him his 



40 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

superior information ? Two young men in the profes- 
sion of the law, are distinguished, the one for hard 
study, the other for idleness. They are engaged in 
the same cause ; and the one perceives that the other 
is making a false point in the case. Is he obliged to 
go over to his brother's office, and explain to him his 
error ; or is it not proper, rather, that both himself and 
his client should suffer for that error, when the cause 
comes to be argued in open court ? 

In fine, I hold that a distinction is to be made be- 
tween general information and definite knowledge. 
If a man knows that an article is worth more than he 
buys it for, or less than he sells it for, he does not act 
with truth and integrity. It is just as if he knew the 
article were more or less in quantity than he alleges it 
to be. But if he acts on general information, open 
alike to all, if he acts on mere opinion, in which he may 
be mistaken, if he has no certain knowledge of the 
merchandise in question, but only a judgment, he is 
entitled to the full benefit of that judgment ; while he is 
liable, at the same time, to the full injury of it, if it be 
mistaken. 

But in regard to absolute certainty, how, I would 
ask, are, we to distinguish between knowledge in re- 
gard to the real value of an article, from knowledge, in 
regard to the real quality of an article I If I sell mer- 
chandise in which there is some secret defect, and do 
not expose that defect, I am held to be a dishonest 
man. But what matters it to my conscience, whether 
the secret defect lies in the article, or in the price ? 
It comes to the same thing with my fellow-dealer. If 
I were to sell moth-eaten cloths at four dollars per 
yard more than they were worth— -the defect known 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 41 

to me and not to my neighbor — all the world would 
pronounce me a knave. But there is another sort of 
moth, a secret in my own keeping, which may have 
as effectually eaten out four dollars from, every yard 
of that cloth, as if it had literally cut the thread of the 
fabric. What difference now can it make to my 
neighbor, whether advantage is taken of his ignorance 
in one way or another, in regard to the quality or the 
price ? The only material point is the value, and that 
is equally affected in either case. This is the only 
conclusion to which I find myself able, on much reflec- 
tion, to arrive. Knowledge of prices is as material to 
the value of merchandise, as knowledge of its quali- 
ties. This knowledge, therefore, as it appears to me, 
should be common to all contracting parties. I can- 
not think that a trader is to be like a fisher, disguising 
his hook with bait ; or like a slight-of-hand man, cheat- 
ing men out of their senses and money with a face of 
gravity; or like an Indian, shooting from behind a 
bush, himself in no danger. Trade, traffic, contracts, 
bargains — all these words imply parity, equivalency, 
common risk, mutual advantage. And he who can 
arrange -a commercial operation, by which he is cer- 
tain to realize great profits and to inflict great losses, 
is a taker of merchandise, but can hardly be said to be 
a trader in it. 

I am sensible that this is the nice and difficult point 
in the whole discussion. But, I put it to the calm re- 
flection and to the consciences of my hearers, whether 
they would not feel easier in their business, if all use 
of superior and certain knowledge were entirely ex- 
cluded from it. Long as this use has obtained, and 
warmly as it is sometimes defended, yet I ask, if the 
4* 



42 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

moral sentiments of the trading community itself 
would not be relieved by giving it up? This, if it be 
true, is certainly a weighty consideration. I admit, in- 
deed, as I have before done, that no vague sentiment 
is to settle the question. But when I find that there 
is even in vague sentiment, something like a hook 
that holds the mind in suspense, or will not let the 
mind be satisfied with departure from it, that circum- 
stance deserves, I think, to arrest attention. I will 
frankly confess, that my own mind has been in this 
very situation. I did not see at one time, how the 
case of general information and opinion which it is 
lawful to use, could be separated from the case of 
particular knowledge. But I now entertain a differ- 
ent, and a more decided opinion. And the considera- 
tion, with me, which has changed uneasiness into doubt, 
and doubt into a new, and as I think, corrected judg- 
ment, is that which I have last stated — it is the consid- 
eration, that is to say, of the very nature of a contract. 
A contract docs not imply equal powers, equal gen- 
eral information, equal shrewdness in the contracting 
parties ; but it does imply, as it appears to me, equal 
actual knowledge. My neighbor may think" himself 
superior to me in all other respects, and he may tell 
me so, and yet I will trade with him ; we still stand 
upon ground that I am willing to consider equal. But 
let him tell me that he knows something touching the 
manufacture, quality, condition, or relations of the 
article to be sold, which I do not know, and which 
affects the value of the article ; and I stop upon the 
threshold ; we cannot traffic ; there may be a game 
of hazard which he and I consent to play; but 
there is an end of all trading. If this be true, then 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 43 

the condition of a regular and lawful contract is, that 
there be no secrets in it ; no secrets, either in the kind 
or quality of the merchandise, or in the breast, or in 
the pocket of the dealer. Let them all be swept 
away — let them be swept out, all secrets from all 
hiding-places, from all coverts of subterfuge and 
chicanery — and this, at least, I am certain of, that 
business would occasion fewer wounds of conscience* 
to all honorable and virtuous communities. 



APPENDIX TO THE FOREGOING DISCOURSE. 

Some remarks upon the foregoing discourse, which 
had reached the author's ear during the weekly in- 
terval, before the delivery of the next discourse, lead 
him before entering upon it, to offer the following 
observations. 

It may be thought, that in my discourse of the last 
Sunday evening, I have leaned to a view of the prin- 
ciples of trade, which is too indulgent to its question- 
able practices. I am most anxious to guard against 
such an inference ; and yet I must hesitate to yield 
exactly to the tone of objection which may possibly 
be adopted by some of my hearers. The pulpit is not 
to speak any peculiar language on this subject, because 
it is the pulpit. The language of truth is what we 
seek ; the language which would be true any where. 
Neither is the pulpit to be looked upon as a post of 
duty, which is to serve only the purpose of assault, 



44 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

whose business it is to assail any particular class of 
persons, merchants or others ; nor is the church a pro- 
per place for men to come to, in order to enjoy the 
gratification of seeing other men attacked. Nor is it 
the only business of the moral teacher, to denounce the 
sins of a violated conscience ; it is sometimes quite as 
important to defend weak consciences. Nothing can 
be worse for a man than to act upon a principle of 
which he doubts the correctness. He is then doing 
wrong, even when the thing he does may be right. 
His conscience becomes weakened by wounds without 
cause ; it is floating on a sea of doubt, and may be 
borne far beyond the bounds of rectitude. It is thus, 
that there arises in a community, a general and per- 
nicious habit of paltering with conscience, of talking 
about certain principles as very good in theory, but as 
impracticable in fact, of slurring over the Christian rule 
with innuendoes, of commending it, indeed, and in a 
sort — but how ? Why, of treacherously commending 
it, with those ironical praises, and ambiguous hints, 
and knowing glances of eye, which more effectually 
than any thing else, break down all principle. 

On the contrary, let us come out fairly and esta- 
blish the true doctrine, on independent grounds, with 
fair reasoning, without any bias against men of busi- 
ness or for them, and then shall we stand upon the 
stable basis of conscience and principle, and be able 
to define its boundaries. If it be expedient and inevi- 
table, that men should, in business as in every thing 
else, act to a certain extent, upon their own superior 
sagacity, power and information, let us plainly say so ; 
and then let us faithfully warn them against going too 
far. Now, nobody doubts, I presume, that they may 



TIIE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 4& 

go too far ; that the man of sagacity may overreach 
an idiot; that the monopolist and the usurer may 
abuse his power ; and that he who possesses superior 
information may dishonestly and cruelly use it. And r 
therefore, it was less necessary to insist upon these 
points, than it was to discuss the great question, and 
the only question ; viz., whether these advantages 
may be used at all. If they may not be used at all, 
then all commerce, in its actual, and I think, inevitable 
procedures, is a system of knavery. If it is not a sys- 
tem of knavery, then it is important to defend it from 
that charge. And it is the more important, because, 
against merchants, from their acquiring greater wealth 
probably, there are peculiar prejudices in the commu- 
nity. The manufacturer may use his superior infor- 
mation — his particular invention that is — he may get a 
patent for it, i. e., a monopoly, and every other pro- 
fession may do substantially the same thing, and not a 
word is said against it. But if the merchant does this, 
he is called into serious question. And influenced by 
this general distrust, he calls himself in question too. 
But unfortunately for him, instead of thinking deeply 
upon the matter, and settling himself upon some foun- 
dation of general principle, he is liable to give himself 
up to the suggestions of temporary expediency. He is 
not quite satisfied, perhaps, with what he is doing, and 
yet, he says, that he must do it, or he cannot get 
along — a way of reasoning that I hold to be most in- 
jurious to his character. Let him then, I say, settle 
some just principle, and conscientiously act upon it. 
They are general principles, I must desire you to 
observe, which I have attempted to establish. The 
questions that arise upon the application of these 



46 THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 

principles are, of course, numerous and complicated. 
I could not enter into them. My inexperience disqual- 
ified me. And besides, it was impossible to meet the 
the questions of every man's mind. But, by way of 
guarding against any false inferences from what I have 
said, let me offer two suggestions. In the first place, I 
have not intended to touch any questions about cor- 
porations, or about combinations and conspiracies to 
defraud. My discussion has been occupied with sim- 
ple and single-handed dealings of man with man. In 
the next place, if my views have seemed to any one to 
lean to an unjust decision of any case, then, I say, that 
they are to be limited and restrained by that very case. 
The very principle I adopt, is that of restricting the 
fair action of trade within the boundaries of justice and 
philanthropy. 

I must add, in fine, that in defending the right in 
trade, the impression upon the popular ear, may natu- 
rally enough have been, that I have not sufficiently 
considered the wrong. The wrong, let me observe 
here, will properly come under our consideration in 
another place. What I say now is, that if the prin- 
ciples I have laid down, have seemed to any one to 
verge towards an undue license, I must most earnestly 
protest against his inference. That very license,- 1 
say, is the point to which the principle shall not go. 
And I say more explicitly, that although the vender of 
any goods is not bound to assist the buyer with his 
judgment, yet that he is bound to point out any latent 
defect, and he is bound, by the general trust reposed 
in him on that point, to sell at the market price ; and 
again, that monopoly, whether of money or other com- 
modities, although it must inevitably raise the prices, 



THE MORAL LAW OF CONTRACTS. 47 

although it must be governed in all ordinary cases, by 
the market value, yet when it can control the market 
price, is bound to use its power with moderation ; and 
finally, that he *who acts upon superior information, 
though he may lawfully do so, shall not press his ad- 
vantage to the extent of any fraudulent use, or to the 
infliction of any gross and undeserved injury — that he 
shall not press it farther than is necessary, reasonably 
to reward vigilance and admonish indolence — that he 
shall not press it farther than the wholesome action of 
trade, and the true welfare of the whole community, 
requires. 



48 



DISCOURSE II. 



ON THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 



PROVERBS XX. 15. There is gold and a multitude of 

RUBIES, BUT THE LIPS OF KNOWLEDGE, (i. E. OF RECTITUDE,) IS 
A PRECIOUS JEWEL. 

My subject this evening is the moral end of busi- 
ness. Let me first attempt to define my meaning in 
the use of this phrase — the moral end of business. 

It is not the end for which property should be 
sought. It is not the moral purpose to be answered 
by the acquisition, but by the process of acquisition. 
And again, it is not the end of industry in general — 
that is a more comprehensive subject — but it is the end 
of business in particular, of barter, of commerce. 
" The end of business ?" some one may say, " why, the 
end of business is to obtain property ; the end of the 
process of acquisition is acquisition." If I addressed 
any person whose mind had not gone behind that 
ready and obvious answer to ultimate and deeper rea- 
sons, I should venture to say, that a revelation is to be 
made to him, of a more exalted aim in business, of a 
higher, and at the same time, more perilous scene of 
action in its pursuits, than he has yet imagined. In 
other words, I hold that the ultimate end of all busi- 
ness is a moral end. I believe that business — I mean 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 49 

not labor but barter, traffic — would never have exist- 
ed, if there had been no end but sustenance. The 
animal races obtain subsistence upon an easier and 
simpler plan-, but for man there is a higher end, and 
that is moral. 

The broad grounds of this position I find in the ob- 
vious designs of Providence, and in the evident adap- 
tation to this moral end, of business itself. 

There is, then, a design for which all things were 
made and ordained, going beyond the things them- 
selves. To say that things were made, or that the 
arrangements and relations of things were ordained, 
for their own sake, is a proposition without meaning. 
The world, its structure, productions, laws and events, 
have no good nor evil in them — none, but as they pro- 
duce these results, in the experience of living crea- 
tures. The end, then, of the inanimate creation, is the 
welfare of the living, and, therefore, especially of the 
intelligent creation. But the welfare of human beings 
lies essentially in their moral culture. All is wrong, 
every where, if all is not right there. All of design, 
that there is in this lower creation, presses upon that 
point The universe is a moral chaos without that de- 
sign, and it is a moral desolation to every mind in 
which that design is not accomplished. Life, then, has 
an ultimate purpose. We are not appointed to pass 
through this life, barely that we may live. We are not 
impelled, both by disposition and necessity, to buy and 
sell, barely that we may do it ; nor to get gain, barely 
that we may get it. There is an end in business be- 
yond supply. There is an object, in the acquisition of 
wealth, beyond success. There is a final cause of 
human traffic ; and that is virtue. 

5 



50 THE MORAL END OP BUSINESS. 

With this view of the moral end of business, falls in 
the constant doctrine of all elevated philosophy and 
true religion. Life, say the expounders of every 
creed, is a probation. The circumstances in which 
we are placed — the events, the scenes of our mortal 
lot — the bright visions that cheer us, the dark clouds 
that overshadow us— all these are not an idle show, 
nor do they exist for themselves alone, nor because 
they must exist by the fiat of some blind chance ; but 
they have a purpose ; and that purpose is expressed 
in the word, probation. Now, if any thing deserves to 
be considered as a part of that probation, it is busi- 
ness. Life, say the wise, is a school. In this school 
there are lessons ; toil is a lesson ; trial is a lesson ; 
and business, too, is a lesson. But the end of a lesson 
is, that something be learned. And the end of busi- 
ness is, that truth, rectitude, virtue, be learned. This 
is the ultimate design proposed by Heaven, and it is a 
design which every wise man, engaged in that calling, 
will propose to himself. It is no extravagance, there- 
fore, but the simple assertion of a truth, to say to a man 
so engaged, and to say emphatically, " You have an end 
to gain beyond success ; and that is the moral rectitude 
of your own mind." 

That business is so exquisitely adapted to accomplish 
that purpose, is another argument with me to prove that 
such is the intention of its Ordainer, was its design. 
I can conceive that things might have been ordered 
otherwise ; that human beings might have been formed 
for industry, and not for traffic. I can conceive man 
and nature to have been so constituted, that each indi- 
vidual should, by solitary labor, have drawn from the 
earth his sustenance ; and that a vesture softer, richer, 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 51 

and more graceful than is ever wrought in the looms 
of our manufactories, might have been woven upon 
his body, by the same invisible hands that have thus 
clothed the beasts of the desert, and the birds of the 
air, and the lilies of the field, so that Solomon in all 
his glory was not arrayed like one of them. Then 
might man have held only the sweet counsel of so- 
ciety with his fellow, and never have been called to 
engage with him in the strife of business. Then, too, 
would he have been saved from all the dangers 
and vices of human traffic. But then, too, would the 
lofty virtues cultivated in this sphere of life, never 
have had an existence. For business, I repeat, is 
admirably adapted to form such virtues. It is apt, I 
know it is said, to corrupt men ; but the truth is, it cor- 
rupts only those who are willing to be corrupted. An 
honest man, a man who sincerely desires to attain to 
a lofty and unbending uprightness, could scarcely seek 
a discipline more perfectly fitted to that end, than the 
discipline of trade. For what is trade ? It is the 
constant adjustment of the claims of different parties, 
a man's self being one of the parties. This competi- 
tion of rights and interests might not invade the soli- 
tary study, or the separate tasks of the work-shop, or 
the labors of the silent field, once a day ; but it press- 
es upon the merchant and trader continually. Do 
you say that it presses too hard ? Then I reply, must 
the sense of rectitude be made the stronger to meet 
the trial. Every plea of this nature is an argument 
for strenuous moral effort. Shall I be told that the 
questions which often arise are very perplexing ; that 
the case to be decided comes, oftentimes, not under a 
definite rule but under a general principle, whose 



52 THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 

very generality is perilous to the conscience ? It is 
indeed. Here, perhaps, lies the great peril of business, 
in the generality of the rule. For conscience does 
not in most cases definitely say, " thou shalt do this 
thing, and thou shalt do that." It says always, " thou 
shalt do right," but what that is, is not always clear* 
And hence it is, that a man may take care to offend 
against no definite remonstrance of conscience, and 
that he may be, in the common acceptation, an honest 
man ; and yet, that he may be a selfish, exacting and 
oppressive man ; a man who can never recognize the 
rights and interests of others ; who can never see 
any thing but on the side that is favorable to himself; 
who drowns the voice of his modest neighbor, with 
always and loudly saying, " Oh ! this is right, and 
that can't be" — a man, in fine, who, although he sel- 
dom, perhaps, never offends against any assignable or 
definite precept of conscience, has swerved altogether 
from all uprightness and generosity. What then is to 
be done ? A work, I answer, of the most ennobling 
character. A man must do more than to attain to 
punctilious honesty in his actions ; he must train his 
whole soul, his judgment, his sentiments and affec- 
tions, to uprightness, candour and good will. 

In fine, I look upon business as one vast scene of 
moral action. " The thousand wheels of commerce," 
with all their swift and complicated revolutions, I 
regard as an immense moral machinery. Meanness 
and cunning may lurk amidst it, but it was not de- 
signed for that degradation. That must be a noble 
scene of action, where conscience is felt to be a law. 
And it is felt to be the law of business ; its very vio- 
lations prove it such. It is the enthroned sovereign of 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 53 

the plan ; disobedience, disloyalty, give attestation to 
it. Nothing is too holy to connect with it. There is 
a temple in one of the cities of Europe, through 
which is the very passage to the market-place ; and 
those who pass there, often rest their burthens, to turn 
aside and kneel at the altar of prayer. So were it 
meet that all men should enter upon their daily busi- 
ness. The temple of mammon, should be the temple of 
God. The gates of trade should be as the entrance 
to the sanctuary of conscience. There is an eye of 
witnessing and searching scrutiny fixed upon every one 
of its doings. The presence of that all-seeing One, 
not confined, as some imagine, to the silent church or 
the solitary grove — the presence of God, I think it 
not too solemn to say, is in every counting-room and 
warehouse of yonder mart, and ought to make it holy 
ground. 

I have thus attempted to show that business has an 
ultimate, moral end — one going beyond the accumula- 
tion of property. 

This may also be shown to be true, not only on the 
scale of our private affairs, but on the great theatre of 
history. Commerce has always been an instrument 
in the hands of Providence, for accomplishing nobler 
ends than promoting the wealth of nations. It has 
been the grand civilizer of nations. It has been the 
active principle in all civilization. Or, to speak more 
accurately, it has presented that condition of things, in 
which civilization has always rapidly advanced, and 
without which, it never has. The principles of civili- 
zation, properly speaking, are the principles of human- 
ity — the natural desire of knowledge, liberty and re- 
finement. But commerce seems to have been the 

5* 



54 THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 

germ, the original spring, that has put all other springs 
in action. Liberty has always followed its steps ; and 
with liberty, science and religion have gradually ad- 
vanced and improved ; and never without it. All 
those kingdoms of central Asia, and of Europe too, 
which commerce has never penetrated, have been, and 
are, despotisms. With its earliest birth on the Medi- 
terranean shore, freedom was born. Phoenicia, the 
merchants of whose cities, Tyre and Sidon, were ac- 
counted princes ; the Hebrew commonwealth, which 
carried on a trade through those parts ; the Grecian, 
Carthaginian and Roman States, were not only the 
freest, but they were the only free states of antiquity. 
In the middle ages, commerce broke down, in Europe, 
the feudal system, raising up in the Hanse Towns 
throughout Germany, Sweden and Norway, a body 
of men who were able to cope with barons and kings, 
and to wrest from them, their free charters and right- 
ful privileges. In England, its influence is proverbial ; 
the sheet-anchor it has long been considered, of her 
unequalled prosperity and intelligence. On our own 
happy shores, it has a still more unobstructed field, and 
is destined, I trust, to spread over the whole breadth 
of our interior domain, wealth, cultivation and refine- 
ment. 

Its moral influences are the only ones of which we 
stand in any doubt, and these, it need not be said, are 
of unequalled importance. The philanthropist, the 
Christian, the Christian preacher, are all bound to 
watch these influences with the closest attention, and 
to do all in their power to guard and elevate them. 
To this work I am attempting to contribute my hum- 
ble part ; and I conceive, that I have now come to the 



THE MORAL END CP BUSINESS. 55 

grand principle of safety and improvement, viz., that 
trade is essentially a moral business, that it has a 
moral end more important than success, that the attain- 
ment of this end is better than the acquisition of 
wealth, and that the failure of it, is worse than any 
commercial failure ; worse than bankruptcy, poverty, 
ruin. 

It is upon this point that I wish especially to insist ; : 
but there are one or two topics, that may previously 
claim some attention. 

If, then, business is a moral dispensation, and its 
highest end is moral, I shall venture to call in question 
the commonly supposed desirableness of escaping from 
it — the idea which prevails with so many of making a 
fortune in a few years, and afterwards of retiring to a 
state of leisure. If business really is a scene of wor- 
thy employment and of high moral action, I do not 
see why the moderate pursuit of it should not be laid 
down in the plan of entire active life ; and why upon 
this plan, a man should not determine to give only so, 
much time each day to his avocations, as would be 
compatible with such a plan ; only so much time, in 
other words, as will be compatible with the daily en- 
joyment of life, with reading, society, domestic inter-, 
course, and all the duties of philanthropy and devo- 
tion. If the merchant does not dislike or despise his 
employment — and it is when he makes himself the 
mere slave of business, that he creates the greatest 
real objections to it— if, I say, he looks upon his em- 
ployment as lawful and laudable, an appointment of 
God to accomplish good purposes in this world and 
better for the next ; why should he not, like the physi- 
cian, the lawyer and clergyman, like the husbandman 



56 THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 

and artisan, continue in it, through the period of active 
life ; and adjust his views, expectations and engage- 
ments to that reasonable plan ? But now, instead of 
this, what do we see around us ? Why, men are en- 
gaging in business — here, at home, in their own coun- 
try, in the bosom of their families and amidst their 
friends — as if they were in a foreign and infectious 
clime ; and must be in haste to make their fortunes, 
that they may escape with their lives to some place of 
safety, ease, and enjoyment ! 

And now, what sort of preparation for retirement 
is this life, absorbed in business ? It is precisely that 
sort of preparation that unfits a man for retirement. 
Nothing will work well or agreeably in experience, 
which has not some foundation in previous habits and 
practice. But for all those things which are to be a 
man's resources in retirement, his previous life, per- 
haps, has given him not a moment of time. He has 
really no rural tastes ; for he has scarcely seen the 
country for years, except on hurried journeys of busi- 
ness ; the busy wheels of commerce now, alas ! roll 
through the year, and he is chained to them every 
month. He has made no acquaintance with the fine 
arts ; no music has there been for his ear but the clink 
of gold ; no pictures for his eye, but fine colored draw- 
ings of houses and lots, or of fancy villages and towns. 
He has cultivated no habits of reading ; and — what I 
hold to be just as fatal to the happiness of any life, 
retired or active — he has cultivated no habits of devo- 
tion. Add to all this, that he is thrown upon the dan- 
gerous state of luxurious leisure — that prepared, en-, 
riched, productive hot-bed of prurient imaginations 
and teeming passions — without any guards against its 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 57 

moral perils. And what is likely to be the conse- 
quence ? He will become perhaps an indolent and 
bloate dsensualist, cumbering the beautiful grounds, on 
which he vegetates rather than lives ; or, from the vio- 
lent change of his habits, you will soon hear, perhaps, 
that, without any other cause than the change, he is 
dead ; or he may live on, in weariness and ennui, 
wishing in his heart, that he were back again, though 
it were to take his place behind the counter of the 
humblest shop. 

I do not pretend, of course, that I am pourtraying 
the case of every man, who is proposing to retire from 
business. There are those, doubtless, whose views of 
retiring are reasonable and praise-worthy ; whodo,not 
propose to escape from all employment ; who are 
living religiously and virtuously in the midst of their 
business, and not unwisely intending to make up for 
the deficiency of those qualities in retirement ; who 
wish to improve and beautify some pleasant rural 
abode, and thus, and in many other ways, to be use- 
ful to the country around them. To such a retire- 
ment, I have nothing to object : and I only venture to 
suggest, as an obvious dictate of good sense, that he 
who proposes, some day, to retire from business, should, 
in the meantime, cultivate those qualities and habits, 
which will make him happy in retirement. But this I 
also say, that I do more than doubt, whether any man, 
who is completely engrossed in business, from morn- 
ing till night, for twenty or thirty years, can be pre- 
pared to enjoy or improve a life of leisure. 

Another topic, of which I wish to speak, is the rage 
for speculation. I wish to speak of it now in a partic- 
ular view — as interfering, fhat is to say, with the moral 



58 THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS, 

end of business. And here, again, let me observe, 
that I can have nothing to do with instances, with ex- 
ceptions. I can only speak of the general tendency 
of things. And it is not against speculation simply, 
that I have any thing to allege. All business possesses 
more or less of this character. Every thing is bought 
on the expectation of selling it for more. But this 
rage for speculation, this eagerness of many for sud- 
den and stupendous accumulation, this spirit of gam- 
bling in trade, is a different thing. It proceeds on 
principles entirely different from the maxims of a reg- 
ular and pains-taking business. It is not looking to dil- 
igence and fidelity for a fair reward, but to change and 
chance for a fortunate turn. It is drawing away 
men's minds from the healthful processes of sober in- 
dustry and attention to business, and leading them to 
wait in feverish excitement, as at the wheel of a lot- 
tery. The proper basis of success — vigilant care and 
labor — is forsaken for a system of baseless credit. 
Upon this system, men proceed, straining their means 
and stretching their responsibilities, till, in calm times, 
they can scarcely hold on upon their position ; and 
when a sudden jar shakes the commercial world, or a 
sudden blast sweeps over it, many fall, like untimely 
fruit, from the towering tree of fancied prosperity. 
Upon this system, many imagine that they are doing 
well, when they are not doing well. They rush into 
expenses, which they cannot afford, upon the strength, 
not of their actual, but of their imaginary or expected 
means. Young men, who, in former days, would have 
been advised to walk awhile longer, and patiently to 
tread the upward path, must buy horses and vehicles 
for their accommodation, and mounted upon the car 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 59 

of fancied independence, they are hurried only to 
swifter destruction. 

This system of rash and adventurous speculation, 
overlooks all the moral uses and ends of business. 
To do business and get gain, honestly and conscien- 
tiously, is a good thing. It is a useful discipline of the 
character. I look upon a man who has acquired 
wealth, in a laudable, conscientious and generous pur- 
suit of business, not only with a respect far beyond 
what I can feel for his wealth — for which, indeed, ab- 
stractly, I can feel none at all — but with the distinct 
feeling that he has acquired something far more valu- 
able than opulence. But for this discipline of the 
character, for the reasonableness and rectitude of 
mind which a regular business intercourse may form, 
speculation furnishes but a narrow field, if any at all ; 
such speculation, I mean, as has lately created a popu- 
lar phrenzy in this country about the sudden acquisi- 
tion of property . The game which men were play- 
ing was too rapid, and the stake too large, to admit of 
the calm discriminations of conscience, and the rea- 
sonable contemplation of moral ends. Wealth came 
to be looked upon as the only end. And immediate 
wealth, was the agitating prize. Men could not wait 
for the slow and disciplinary methods, by which Pro- 
vidence designed that they should acquire it ; but 
they felt, as if it were the order of Providence, that 
fortunes should fall direct from heaven into their open 
hands. Rather, should we not say, that multitudes 
did not look to heaven at all, but to speculation 
itself, instead, as if it were a god, or some won- 
der-working magician, at least, that was suddenly 
to endow them with opulence. Acquisition became 



60 THE MORAL END OP BUSINESS. 

the story of an Arabian tale ; and men's minds were 
filled with romantic schemes, and visionary hopes, and 
vain longings, rather than with sobriety, and candor, 
and moderation, and gratitude, and trust in Heaven* 

This insane and insatiable passion for accumulation, 
ever ready, when circumstances favor, to seize upon 
the public mind, is that " love of money which is the 
root of all evil," that "covetousness which is idolatry," 
It springs from an undue, an idolatrous estimate of the 
value of property. Many are feeling, that nothing — 
nothing will do for them or for their children, but 
wealth ; not a good character, not well-trained and 
well exerted faculties, not virtue, not the hope of hea- 
ven — nothing but wealth. It is their god, and the god 
of their families. Their sons are growing up to the same 
worship of it, and to an equally baneful reliance upon 
it for the future ; they are rushing into expenses which 
the divided property of their father's house will not en- 
able them to sustain ; and they are preparing to be in 
turn and from necessity, slaves to the same idol. How 
truly is it written, that " they that will be rich, fall into 
temptation, and a snare, and into many foolish and 
hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and 
perdition !" There is no need that they should be 
rich ; but they ivill be rich. All the noblest functions 
of life may be discharged without wealth, all its high- 
est honors obtained, all its purest pleasures enjoyed ; 
yet I repeat it — nothing — nothing will do but wealth. 
Disappoint a man of this, and he mourns as if the 
highest end of life were defeated. Strip him of this : 
and this gone, all is gone. Strip him of this, and I 
shall point to no unheard of experience, when I say — 
he had rather die than live ! 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 61 

The grievous mistake, the mournful evil implied in 
this oversight of the great spiritual end, which should be 
sought in all earthly pursuits, is the subject to which 
I wished to draw your attention in the last place. 
It is not merely in the haste to be rich, accompanied 
with the intention to retire from business to a state of 
luxurious and self-indulgent leisure ; it is not merely 
in the rage for speculation, that the evils of overlook- 
ing the moral aim of business are seen ; but they sink 
deep into the heart, in the ordinary walks of regular 
and daily occupation ; dethroning the spiritual nature 
from its proper place, vitiating the affections, and losing 
some of the noblest opportunities for virtue, that can 
be lost on earth. 

The spiritual nature, I say, is dethroned from its pro- 
per place, by this substitution of the immediate end, 
wealth, for the ultimate end, virtue. Who is this be- 
ing, that labors for nothing but property; with no 
thought beyond it ; with the feeling that nothing will 
do without it ; with the feeling that there are no ends 
in life, that can satisfy him, if that end is not gained ? 
You will not tell me, that it is a being of my own fancy. 
You have probably known such ; perhaps, some of you 
are such. I have known men of this way of think- 
ing, and men, too, of sense and of amiable temper. 
Who then, I ask again, is this being? He is an im- 
mortal being; and his views ought to stretch them- 
selves to eternity — ought to seek an ever-expanding 
good. And this being, so immortal in his nature, so 
infinite in faculties — to what is he looking ? To the sub- 
lime mountain range, that spreads along the horizon of 
this world? To the glorious host of glittering stars, 
the majestic train of night, the infinite regions of 

6 



62 THE MORAL END OP BUSINESS, 

heaven ? No — his is no upward gaze, no wide vision 
of the world — to a speck of earthly dust he is looking. 
He might lift his eye, a philosophic eye, to the magni- 
ficence of the universe, for an object ; and upon what 
is it fixed ? Upon the mole-hill beneath his feet ! That 
is his end. Every thing is naught, if that is gone. 
He is an immortal being, I repeat ; he may be enrobed 
in that vesture of light, of virtue, which never shall 
decay ; and he is to live through such ages, that the 
time shall come when to his eye all the splendors of 
fortune, of gilded palace and gorgeous equipage, shall 
be no more than the spangle that falls from a royal 
robe ; and yet, in that glittering particle of earthly dust, 
is his soul absorbed and bound up. I am not saying, 
now, that he is willing to lose his soul for that. This 
he may do. But I only say now, that he sets his soul 
upon that, and feels it to be an end so dear, that the 
irretrievable loss of it, the doom of poverty, is death to 
him ; nay, to his sober and deliberate judgment — for I 
have known such instances — is worse than death itself ! 
And yet he is an immortal being, I repeat, and he is 
sent into this world on an errand ? What errand 1 
What is the great mission on which the Master of life 
hath sent him here ? To get riches ? To amass gold 
coins, and bank notes? To scrape together a little of 
the dust of this earth ; and then to lie down upon it 
and embrace it, in the indolence of enjoyment, or in 
the rapture of possession ? Is such worldliness possi- 
ble ? Worldliness ! Why, it is not worldliness. That 
should be the quality of being attached to a world — 
to all that it can give, and not to one thing only that it 
can give — to fame, to power, to moral power, to influ- 
ence, to the admiration of the world. Worldliness, 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 63 

methinks, should be something greater than men make 
it — should stretch itself out to the breadth of the great 
globe, and not wind itself up like a worm in the web 
of selfish possession. If I must be worldly, let me 
have the worldliness of Alexander, and not of Croesus. 
And wealth too — I had thought it was a means and noi 
an end — an instrument which a noble human being 
handles, and not a heap of shining dust in which he 
buries himself:; something that a man could drop from 
his hand, and still be a man — be- all that he ever was — 
and compass all the noble ends that pertain to a 
human being. What if you be poor ? Are you not 
still a man — Oh ! heaven, and mayest be a spirit, and 
have a universe of spiritual possessions for your trea- 
sure. What if you be poor ? You may still walk 
through the world in freedom and in joy. You may 
still tread the glorious path of virtue. You may stiil 
win the bright prize of immortality. You may still 
achieve purposes on earth that constitute all the glory 
of earth, and ends in heaven, that constitute all the 
glory of heaven ! Nay, if such must be the effect cf 
wealth, I would say, let me be poor. I would pray 
God that I might be poor. Rather, and more wisely 
ought I, perhaps, to say with Agur, " give me neither 
poverty nor riches; lest I be full and deny thee, an J 
say, who is the Lord ? or lest I be poor, and steal, 
and take the name of my God in vain." 

The many, corrupting and soul-destroying vices en- 
gendered in the mind by this lamentable oversight cf 
the spiritual aim in business, deserve a separate and 
solemn consideration. 

I believe that you will not accuse me of any disposi- 
tion to press unreasonable charges against men of busi- 



64 THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS, 

ness. I cannot possibly let the pulpit throw burthens 
of responsibility, or warnings of danger on this sphere 
of life, as if others were not in their measure open to 
similar admonitions. I come not here to make war 
upon any particular class. I pray you not to regard 
this pulpit as holding any relation to you, but that of 
a faithful and Christian friend, or as having any inter- 
est in the world connected with business, but your own 
true interest. Above all things do I deprecate that 
worldly and most pernicious habit of hearing, and ap- 
proving very good things in the pulpit, and going away, 
and calmly doing very bad things in the world, as if 
the two had no real connection — that habit of listen- 
ing to the admonitions and rebukes of the pulpit with 
a sort of demure respect, or with significant glances at 
your neighbors, and then of going away, commending 
the doctrine with your lips, to violate it in your lives — 
as if you said, " well, the pulpit has acted its part, and 
now we will go and act ouis." I act no part here. 
God forbid ! I endeavor to be reasonable and just, in 
what I say here. I take no liberty to be extravagant 
in this place, because I cannot be answered. I hold 
myself solemnly bound to say nothing recklessly and 
for effect. I occupy here no isolated position. I am 
continually thinking what my hearers will fairly have 
to say on their part, and striving fairly to meet it. I 
speak to you simply as one man may speak to another, 
as soul may speak to its brother soul ; and I solemnly 
and affectionately say, what I would have you say 
to me in a change of place — I say that the pursuits of 
business are perilous to your virtue. 

On this subject, I cannot, indeed, speak with the lan- 
guage of experience. But I cannot forget that the voice 



THE MORAL END OP BUSINESS. 65 

of all moral instruction, in all ages and in all countries, 
is a voice of warning. I cannot forget that the voice of 
Holy Scripture falls in solemn accents upon the perils 
attending the pursuit of wealth. How solemn, how 
strong, how pertinent those accents are, I may not 
know, but I must not, for that reason, withhold them. 
" Wo unto you who are rich," saith the holy word, " for 
ye have not received your consolation. Wo unto you 
that are full, for ye shall hunger." Hunger ? What 
hath wealth to do with hunger? And yet there is a 
hunger. What is it ? What can it be but the hun- 
gering of the soul ; and that is the point which, in this 
discourse, I press upon your attention. And again it 
says, " your riches are corrupted ; your gold and sil- 
ver is cankered :" and is it not cankered in the very 
hearts of those whom wealth has made proud, vain, 
anxious and jealous, or self-indulgent, sensual, diseased 
and miserable ? — " And the rust of them," so proceeds 
the holy text, " shall be a witness against you, and shall 
eat your flesh as it were fire." Ah ! the rust of riches ! — 
not that portion of them which is kept bright in good 
and holy uses^-" and the consuming fire" of the pas- 
sions which wealth engenders ! No rich man — I lay 
it down as an axiom of all experience — no rich man is 
safe, who is not a benevolent man. No rich man is 
safe, but in the imitation of that benevolent God, who 
is the possessor and dispenser of all the riches of the 
universe. What else, mean the miseries of a selfishly 
luxurious and fashionable life every where? What 
mean the sighs that come up from the perlieus, and 
couches, and most secret haunts of all splendid and 
self-indulgent opulence? Do not tell me that other 
men are sufferers too. Say not that the poor, and des- 

6* ' 



66 THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 

titute and forlorn, are miserable also. Ah ! just hea- 
ven ! thou hast in thy mysterious wisdom, appointed 
to them a lot hard, full hard, to bear. Poor house- 
less wretches! who "eat the bitter bread of penury, 
and drink the baleful cup of misery ;" the winter's 
wind blows keenly through your "looped and win- 
dowed raggedness ;" your children wander about un- 
shod, unclothed and untended ; I wonder not that 
ye sigh. But why should those who are surrounded 
with every thing that heart can wish, or imagination 1 
conceive — the very crumbs that fall from whose table 
of prosperity might feed hundreds — why should they 
sigh amidst their profusion and splendor? They have 
broken the bond that should connect power with useful- 
ness, and opulence with mercy. That is the reason. 
They have taken up their treasures, and wandered 
away into a forbidden world of their own, far from 
the sympathies of suffering humanity ; and the heavy 
night-dews are descending upon their splendid revels ; 
and the all-gladdening light of heavenly beneficence is 
exchanged for the sickly glare of selfish enjoyment; 
and happiness, the blessed angel that hovers over gen- 
erous deeds and heroic virtues, has fled away from 
that world of false gaiety and fashionable exclusion. 

I have, perhaps, wandered a moment from the point 
before me — the peril of business — though as business 
is usually aiming at wealth, I may be considered rath- 
er as having only pressed that point to some of its ul- 
timate bearings. 

But the peril of business specifically considered ; 
and I ask, if there is not good ground for the admoni- 
tions on this point, of every moral and holy teacher of 
every age ? What means, if there 13 not, that eternal 



THE MORAL END OP BUSINESS. 67 

disingenuity of trade, that is ever putting on fair ap- 
pearances and false pretences — of "the buyer that 
says, it is naught, it is naught, but when he is gone his 
way, then boasteth " — of the seller, who is always 
exhibiting the best samples, not fair but false samples, 
of what he has to sell ; of the seller, I say, who, to 
use the language of another, " if he is tying up a 
bundle of quills, will place several in the centre, of 
not half the value of the rest, and thus sends forth a 
hundred liars, with a fair outside, to proclaim as many 
falsehoods to the world ?" These practices, alas ! have 
fallen into the regular course of the business of many. 
All men expect them ; and therefore, you may say, 
that nobody is deceived. But deception is intended; 
else why are these things done ? What if nobody is 
deceived ? The seller himself is corrupted. He may 
stand acquitted of dishonesty in the moral code of 
worldly traffic ; no man may charge him with dis- 
honesty ; and yet to himself he is a dishonest man. 
Did I say that nobody is deceived ! Nay, but some- 
body is deceived. This man, the seller, is grossly, 
wofully deceived. He thinks to make a little profit 
by his contrivance ; and he is selling, by penny-worths', 
the very integrity of his soul. Yes, the pettiest shop 
where these things are done, may be to the spiritual 
vision, a place of more than tragic interest. It is the 
stage on which the great action of life is performed. 
There stands a man, who in the sharp collisions of 
daily traffic, might have polished his mind to the 
bright and beautiful image of truth, who might have 
put on the noble brow of candor, and cherished the 
very soul of uprightness. I have known such a man. 
I have locked into his humble shop. I have seen the 



(38 THE MOHAE END OF BUSINESS. 

mean and soiled articles with which he is dealing. And 
yet the process of things going on there, was as beau- 
tiful, as if it had been done in heaven ! But now, 
what is this man — the man who always turns up to 
you the better side of every thing he sells — the man of 
unceasing contrivances and expedients, his life long, 
to make things appear better than they are ? Be he 
the greatest merchant or the poorest huckster, he is 
a mean, a knavish — and were I not awed by the 
thoughts of his immortality, I should say — a con- 
temptible creature; whom nobody that knows him 
can love, whom nobody can trust, whom nobody can 
reverence. Not one thing in the dusty repository of 
things, great or small, which he deals with, is so vile 
as he. What is this thing then, which is done, or may 
be done in the house of traffic ? I tell you, though 
you may have thought not so of it — I tell you that 
there, even there, a soul may be lost ! — that that very 
structure, built for the gain of earth, may be the gate 
of hell ! Say not that this fearful appellation should 
be applied to worse places than that. A man may 
as certainly corrupt all the integrity and virtue of his 
soul in a warehouse or a shop, as in a gambling- 
house or a brothel. 

False to himself, then, may a man become, while he 
is walking through the perilous courses of traffic; 
false also to his neighbor. I cannot dwell much upon 
this topic ; but I will put one question ; not for re- 
proach, but for your sober consideration. Must it 
not render a man extremely liable to be selfish, that 
he is engaged in pursuits whose immediate and pal- 
pable end, is his own interest ? I wish to draw your 
attention to this peculiarity of trade. I do not say, 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 69 

that the motives which originally induce a man to 
enter into this sphere of life, may not be as benevolent 
as those of any other man ; but this is the point which 
I wish to have considered — that while the learned 
professions have knowledge for their immediate object, 
and the artist and the artisan have the perfection of 
their work as the thing that directly engages their at- 
tention, the merchant and trader have for their im- 
mediate object, profit. Does not this circumstance 
greatly expose a man to be selfish ? Full well I know 
that many are not so ; that many resist and overcome 
this influence ; but I think, that it is to be resisted. 
And a wise man, who more deeply dreads the taint 
of inward selfishness, than of outward dishonor, will 
take care to set up counter influences. And to this 
end, he should beware how he clenches his hand and 
closes his heart against the calls of suffering, the dic- 
tates of public spirit, and the claims of beneficence. 
To listen to them is, perhaps, his very salvation ! 

But the vitiating process of business may not stop 
with selfishness ; it is to be contemplated in still ano- 
ther and higher light. For how possible is it, that a man 
while engaged in exchanging and diffusing the bounties 
of heaven, while all countries and climes are pouring 
their blessings at his feet, while he lawfully deals with 
not one instrument, in mind or matter, but it was 
formed and fitted to his use by a beneficent hand — 
how possible it is that he may forget and forsake the 
Being who has given him all things ! How possible is 
it that under the very accumulation of his blessings 
may be buried all his gratitude and piety — that he 
may be too busy to pray, too full to be thankful, too 
much engrossed with the gifts to think of the Giver ! 



70 THE MOHAL END OF BUSINESS. 

The humblest giver expects some thanks ; he would 
think it a lack of ordinary human feeling in any one, 
to snatch at his bounties, without casting a look on 
the bestower ; he would gaze in astonishment at such 
heedless ingratitude and rapacity, and almost doubt 
whether the creatures he helped, could be human. 
Are they any more human — do they any more deserve 
the name of men, when the object of such perverse 
and senseless ingratitude is the Infinite Benefactor ? 
Would we know what aspect it bears before his eye ? 
Once, and more than once, hath that Infinite Benefac- 
tor spoken. I listen, and tremble as I listen, to that 
lofty adjuration, with which the sublime prophet hath 
set forth His contemplation of the ingratitude of his 
creatures. " Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth ! 
for the Lord hath spoken; I have nourished and 
brought up children, and they have rebelled against 
me. The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his mas- 
ter's crib ; but Israel doth not know ; my people doth 
not consider." Sad and grievous error even in the 
eye of reason ! Great default even to nature's reli- 
gion ! But art thou a Christian man — what law shall 
acquit thee, if that heavy charge lies at thy door — at 
the door of thy warehouse — at the door of thy dwell- 
ing. Beware, lest thou forget God in his mercies ! the 
Giver in his gifts ! lest the light be gone from thy 
prosperity, and prayer from thy heart, and the love of 
thy neighbor from the labors of thy calling, and the 
hope of heaven from the abundance of thine earthly 
estate ! 

But not with words of warning — ever painful to use, 
and not always profitable — would I now dismiss you 
from the house of God. I would not close this dis- 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 7 1 

course, in which I may seem to have pressed heavily 
on the evils to which business exposes those who are 
engaged in it, without holding up distinctly to view the 
great moral aim on which it is my main purpose to 
insist, and attempting to show its excellence. 

There is such a nobleness of character in the right 
course, that it is to that point I would last direct your 
attention. The aspirings of youth, the ambition of 
manhood, could receive no loftier moral direction than 
may be found in the sphere of business. The school 
of trade, with all its dangers, may be made one of the 
noblest schools of virtue in the world ; and it is of 
some importance to say it : — because those who re- 
gard it as a sphere only of selfish interests and sordid 
calculations, are certain to win no lofty moral prizes 
in that school. There can be nothing more fatal to 
elevation of character in any sphere, whether it be of 
business or society, than to speak habitually of that 
sphere as given over to low aims and pursuits. If 
business is constantly spoken of as contracting the 
mind and corrupting the heart ; if the pursuit of pro- 
perty is universally satirized as selfish and grasping ; 
too many who engage in it will think of nothing but 
of adopting the character and the course so pointed 
out. Many causes have contributed, without doubt, 
to establish that disparaging estimate of business — the 
spirit of feudal aristocracies, the pride of learning, the 
tone of literature, and the faults of business itself. 

I say, therefore, that there is no being in the world 
for whom I feel a higher moral respect and admiration, 
than for the upright man of business ; no, not for the 
philanthropist, the missionary, or the martyr. I feel 
that I could more easily be a martyr, than a man 



72 THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 

of that lofty moral uprightness. And /let me say 
yet more distinctly, that it is not for the generous 
man, that I feel this kind of respect — that seems to 
me a lower quality — a mere impulse, compared with 
the lofty virtue I speak of. It is not for the man who 
distributes extensive charities, who bestows magnifi- 
cent donations. That may be all very well — I speak 
not to disparage it — I wish there were more of it ; 
and yet it may all consist with a want of the true, 
lofty, unbending uprightness. That is not the man 
then, of whom I speak ; but it is he who stands, 
amidst all the swaying interests and perilous exigen- 
cies of trade, firm, calm, disinterested and upright. It 
is the man, who can see another man's interests, 
just as clearly as his own. It is the man whose 
mind, his own advantage does not blind nor cloud 
for an instant; who could sit a judge, upon a 
question between himself and his neighbor, just as 
safely, as the purest magistrate upon the bench 
of justice. Ah ! how much richer than ermine, how 
far nobler than the train of magisterial authority, how 
more awful than the guarded bench of majesty, is 
that simple, magnanimous and majestic truth. Yes, 
it is the man who is true — true to himself, to his neigh- 
bor and to his God — true to the right — true to his con- 
science — and who feels, that the slightest suggestion 
of that conscience, is more to him than the chance of 
acquiring an hundred estates. 

Do I not speak to some such one now? Stands 
there not here, some man of such glorious virtue, of 
such fidelity to truth and to God. Good friend ! I 
call upon you to hold fast to that integrity, as the dear- 
est treasure of existence. Though storms of com- 



THE MORAL END OF BUSINESS. 73 

mercial distress sweep over you, and the wreck of all 
worldly hopes threaten you, hold on to that as the plank 
that shall bear your soul unhurt to its haven. Re- 
member that which thy Saviour hath spoken — " what 
shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and 
lose his own soul ?" Remember that there is a worse 
bankruptcy than that which is recorded in an earth- 
ly court — the bankruptcy that is recorded in heaven — 
bankruptcy in thy soul — all poor, and broken down, 
and desolate there — all shame and sorrow and mourn- 
ing, instead of that glorious integrity, which should 
have shone like an angel's presence, in the darkest 
prison that ever spread its shadow over human calam- 
ity. Heaven and earth may pass away, but the 
word of Christ — the word of thy truth, let it pass 
from thee never ! 



74 



DISCOURSE III. 

ON THE USES OF LABOR, AND THE PASSION FOR A 
FORTUNE. 



II. THESSALONIANS III. 10. For even when we were 

WITH YOU, THIS WE COMMANDED YOU, THAT IF ANY MAN WOULD 
NOT WORK, NEITHER SHOULD HE EAT- 

I wish to invite your attention this evening to the 
uses of labor, and the passion for a fortune. The 
topics, it is obvious, are closely connected. The lat- 
ter, indeed, is my main subject ; but as preliminary to 
it, I wish to set forth, as I regard it, the great law of 
human industry. It is worthy, I think, of being con- 
sidered, and religiously considered, as the chief law of 
all human improvement and happiness. And if there 
be any attempt to escape from this law, or if there be 
any tendency of the public mind, at any time, to the 
same point, the eye of the moral observer should be 
instantly drawn to that point, as one most vital to the 
public welfare. That there has been such a tendency 
of the public mind in this country, that it has been 
most signally manifest within a few years past, and 
that although it has found in cities the principal field of 
its manifestation, it has spread itself over the country 
too ; that multitudes have become suddenly possessed 
with a new idea, the idea of making a fortune in a 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 75 

brief time, and then of retiring to a state of ease and 
independence — this is the main fact on which I shall 
insist, and of which I shall endeavor to point out the 
dangerous consequences. 

But let me first call your attention to the law which 
has thus, as I contend, in spirit at least, been broken. 
What then is the law ? It is, that industry — working, 
either with the hand or with the mind — the application 
of the powers to some task, to the acheivement of 
some result, lies at the foundation of all human im- 
provement. 

Every step of our progress from infancy to man- 
hood, is proof of this. The process of education, 
rightly considered, is nothing else but wakening the 
powers to activity. It is through their own activity 
alone, that they are cultivated. It is not by the mere 
imposition of tasks, or requisition of lessons. The 
very purpose of the tasks and lessons is to awaken, and 
direct that activity. Knowledge itself cannot be 
gained, but upon this condition, and if it could be 
gained, would be useless without it. 

The state into which the human being is introduced, 
is from the first step of it to the last, designed to an- 
swer the purpose of such an education. Nature's 
education, in other words, answers in this respect, to 
the just idea of man's. Each sense, in succession, is 
elicited by surrounding objects, and it is only by re- 
peated trials and efforts, that it is brought to perfection. 
In like manner, does the scene of life appeal to every 
intellectual and every moral power. Life is a severe 
discipline, and demands every energy of human na- 
ture to meet it. Nature is a rigorous taskmaster ; and 
its language to the human race is, "if a man will not 



7& THE USES OP LABOK r 

work, neither shall he eat." We are not sent into the 
world like animals, to crop the spontaneous herbage 
of the field, and then to lie down in indolent repose : 
but we are sent to dig the soil and plough the sea ; to 
do the business of cities and the work of manufacto- 
ries. The raw material only is given us ; and by the 
processes of cookery and the fabrications of art, it is to 
be wrought to our purpose. The human frame itself 
is a most exquisite piece of mechanism, and it is de- 
signed in every part for work. The strength of the 
arm, the dexterity of the hand, and the delicacy of the 
finger, are all fitted for the accomplishment of this 
purpose. 

Ail this is evidently, not a matter of chance, but the 
result of design. The world is the great and appoint- 
ed school of industry. In an artificial state of society,. 
I know, mankind are divided into the idle and the 
laboring classes ; but such, I maintain, was not the de- 
sign of providence. On the contrary, it was meant 
that all men, in one way or another, should work. If 
any human being could be completely released from 
this law of providence, if he should never be obliged 
so much as to stretch out his hand for any thing, if 
every thing came to him at a bare wish, if there were 
a slave appointed to minister to every sense, and the 
powers of nature were made, in like manner, to obey 
every thought, he would be a mere mass of inertness, 
uselessness and misery. 

Yes, such is man's task, and such is the world he is 
placed in. The world of matter is shapeless and void 
to all man's purposes, till he lays upon it the creative 
hand of labor. And so also is the world of mind. It 
is as true in mind as it is in matter, that the materials 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 77 

only are given us. Absolute truth ready made, no 
more presents itself to us in one department, than 
finished models of mechanism ready made, do in the 
other. Original principles there doubtless are in both ; 
but the result — philosophy, that is to say, in the one 
case is as far to seek, as art and mechanism are in the 
other. 

Such, I repeat, is the world, and such is man. The 
earth he stands upon and the air he breathes are, so 
far as his improvement is concerned, but elements to 
be wrought by him to certain purposes. If he stood on 
earth passively and unconsciously imbibing the dew 
and sap, and spreading his arms to the light and air, he 
would be but a tree. If he grew up capable neither 
of purpose nor of improvement, with no guidance but 
instinct, and no powers but those of digestion and loco- 
motion, he would be but an animal. But he is more 
than this ; he is a man ; he is made to improve ; he is 
made, therefore, to think, to act, to work. Labor is his 
great function, his peculiar distinction, his privilege. 
Can he not think so ? Can he not see, that from being 
an animal to eat and drink and sleep, to become a 
worker— .-to put forth the hand of ingenuity, and to 
pour his own thought into the worlds of nature, fashion- 
ing them into forms of grace and fabrics of conveni- 
ence, and converting them to purposes of improve- 
ment and happiness— can he not see, I repeat, that 
this is the greatest possible step in privilege ? Labor, 
I say, is man's great function. The earth and the at- 
mosphere are his laboratory. With spade and plough, 
with mining-shafts and furnaces and forges, with fire 
and steam — amidst the noise and whirl of swift and 
bright machinery, and abroad in the silent fields be- 



78 THE USES OF LABOR, 

neath the roofing sky, man was made to be ever work- 
ing, ever experimenting. And while he, and all his 
dwellings of care and toil, are borne onward with the 
circling skies, and the shows of heaven are around him, 
and their infinite depths image and invite his thought, 
still in all the worlds of philosophy, in the universe of 
intellect, man must be a worker. He is nothing, he 
can be nothing, he can achieve nothing, fulfil nothing, 
without working. Not only can he gain no lofty im- 
provement without this ; but without it, he can gain no 
tolerable happiness. So that he who gives himself up 
to utter indolence, finds it too hard for him ; and is 
obliged in self-defence, unless he be an idiot, to do 
something. The miserable victims of idleness and 
ennui, driven at last from their chosen resort, are 
compelled to work, to do something ; yes, to employ 
their wretched and worthless lives in — "killing time." 
They must hunt down the hours as their prey. Yes, 
time — that mere abstraction — that sinks light as the 
air upon the eye-lids of the busy and the weary, to the 
idle is an enemy, clothed with gigantic armor ; and 
they must kill it, or themselves die. They cannot live 
in mere idleness ; and all the difference between them 
and others is, that they employ their activity to no 
useful end. They find, indeed, that the hardest work 
in the world is, to do nothing ! 

This reference to the class of mere idlers as it is 
called, leads me to offer one specification in laying 
down this law concerning industry. Suppose a man, 
then, to possess an immense, a boundless fortune, and 
that he holds himself discharged, in consequence, from 
all the ordinary cares and labors' of life. Now, I main- 
tain, that in order to be either an improving, worthy 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 79 

or happy man, he must do one of two things. He 
must either devote himself to the accomplishment of 
some public objects ; or he must devote some hours, 
of every day to his own intellectual cultivation. In 
any case, he must be, to a certain extent, a laborious 
man. The thought of his heart may be far different 
from this. He may think it his special privilege, as a 
man of fortune, to be exempt from all care and effort. 
To lounge on soft couches, to walk in pleasant gardens, 
to ride out for exercise, and to come home for feast- 
ing — this may be his plan. But it will never do. It 
never did yet answer for any human being, and it 
never will. God has made a law against it, which no- 
human power ever could annul, nor human ingenuity 
evade. That law is, that upon labor, either of the 
body of of the mind, all essential well-being shall de- 
pend. And if this law be not complied with, I verily 
believe that wealth is only a curse, and luxury only a 
more slippery road to destruction. The poor idler, I 
verily believe, is safer than the rich idler : and I doubt, 
whether he is not happier. I doubt whether the most 
miserable vagrancy, that sleeps in barns and sheds,, 
and feeds upon the fragments of other men's ta- 
bles, and leaves its tattered garments upon every 
hedge, is so miserable, as surfeited opulence,, sighing 
in palaces, sunk in the lethargy of indolence, loaded, 
with plethory, groaning with weariness which no 
wholesome fatigue ever comes to relieve. The vagrant 
is, at least, obliged to walk from place to place, and 
thus far has the advantage over his fellow idler who 
can ride. Yes, he walks abroad in the fair morning — 
no soft couch detains him — he walks abroad among 
the fresh fields, by the sunny hedges and along the 



80 THE USES OF 1LABOR, 

silent lanes, singing his idle song as he goes — a crea- 
ture poor and wretched enough, no doubt — but I am 
tempted to say, if I must be idle, give me that lot, ra- 
ther than to sit in the cheerless shadow of palace roofs, 
or to toss on downy beds of sluggish stupor or rack- 
ing pain. 

I have thus endeavored to state one of the cardinal 
and inflexible laws of all human improvement and hap- 
piness. I have already premised, that my purpose in 
doing so, was to speak of the spirit of gain, of the 
eagerness for fortune, as characteristics of modern 
business, which tend to the dishonor and violation of 
the law of labor. 

In proceeding to do this, let me more generally ob- 
serve, in the first place, that there has always been a 
public opinion in the world, derogatory to labor. The 
necessity of exertion, though it is the very law under 
which God has placed mankind for their improvement 
and virtue, has always been regarded as a kind of de- 
gradation — has always been felt as a kind of reproach. 
With the exception of a few great geniuses, none so 
great as those who do nothing. Freedom from the ne- 
cessity of exertion is looked upon as a privileged 
condition ; it is encircled with admiring eyes ; it abso-. 
lutely gathers dignity and honor about it. One might 
think that a man would make some apologies for it, to 
the toiling world. Not at all ; he is proud of it. It 
is for the busy man to make apologies. He hopes you 
will excuse him ; he must work, or he ?nust attend 
to his business. You would think he was about to 
do some mean action, You would think he was about 
to do something of which he is ashamedo And he 
is ashamed of it ! 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 8*f 

The time has hardly gone by, when even literary 
labor — labor of the mind, the noblest of all labor, has 
suffered under this disparaging estimate. Authorship 
has always been held to be the proper subject for the 
patronage of condition. Some of the most distinguish- 
ed authors, have lived in obscurity, compared with the 
rich and fashionable around them, and have only forced 
their way into posthumous celebrity. The rewards of 
intellectual toil have usually been stinted to the provision 
of a bare, humble subsistence. Not seldom has there • 
ward been scarcely a remove from starvation. But 
when we descend to manual labor, the comparison is 
still more striking. The laboring classes, operatives as 
they are significantly called in these days, are generally 
regarded but as a useful machinery to produce and 
manufacture comforts and luxuries for those that can 
buy them. And the laboring classes are so regarded, 
mainly, not because they are less informed and culti- 
vated, though that may be true, but because they are 
the laboring classes. Let any one of them be suddenly 
endowed with a fortune, let him be made independent 
of labor, and without any change of character, he im- 
mediately, in the general estimation, takes his place 
among what are called the upper classes. In those 
countries where the favoritism extended to the aristo- 
cracy, has made many of its members the vainest, 
most frivolous and useless of beings, it must be ap- 
parent, that many persons among the business classes 
are altogether their superiors in mind, in refinement, 
in all the noblest qualities ; and yet does the bare cir- 
cumstance of pecuniary independence carry it over 
every thing. They walk abroad in lordly pride, and 
the children of toil on every side, do homage to them. 



82 THE USES OF LABOR, 

Let such an one enter any one of the villages of Eng- 
land or of this country, let him live there — with no- 
thing to do and doing nothing, the year round — and 
those who labor in the field and the workshop, will 
look upon him, in bare virtue of his ability to be idle, 
as altogether their superior. Yes, those who have 
wrought well in the great school of providence, who 
have toiled faithfully at their tasks and learned them, 
will pay this mental deference to the truant, to the 
idler, to him who learns nothing and does nothing — 
aye, and because he does nothing. Nay, in that holy 
church, whose ministry is the strongest bond to phi- 
lanthropic exertion, the clergy, the very ministry of 
him who went about doing good, and had not where 
to lay his head, sinks, in the estimation of the whole 
world to the lowest point of depression, the moment 
it is called " a working clergy." That very epithet, 
working, seems, in spite of every counteracting con- 
sideration, to be a stigma upon every thing to which 
it can be applied. 

But besides this general opinion, there is a specific 
opinion or way of thinking, to which I have already 
referred, as opposed to our principle, and to which I 
wish now to invite your more particular attention. 
This opinion or way of thinking, I must endeavor to 
describe with some care, as it constitutes the basis of 
fact, from which the moral reflections of the remain- 
der of this discourse will arise. 

It will be admitted, then, in the general, I think, 
that modern business — modern, I mean, as compared 
with that of an hundred or even fifty years ago — has 
assumed a new character ; that it has departed from 
the staidness, regularity and moderation of former 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 83 

days. The times when the business of the father de- 
scended to the son, and was expected to pass down as 
an heir-loom in the family ; when the risks were small 
and the gains were moderate, or if ample, still com- 
paratively sure, seem to have giyen way to the intense 
desire and the hazardous pursuit, of immediate and 
immense accumulation. It is not necessary to the 
statement I am making, that I should enter into the 
causes of this change. They are, doubtless, to be 
found in the unusual opportunities for gain, in the ex- 
traordinary extension of credits, and I think also, in 
the rapid expansion of the principle of liberty — that 
is to say, in the intellectual activity, personal ambition 
and unfettered enterprize, which that principle has in- 
troduced into society. But whatever be the causes of 
the change, it will not be denied, I presume, that there 
has sprung up in connection with it, a new view of 
acquisition ; or rather, to state more exactly what I 
mean, that a view of acquisition, which, in former 
time, was confined to a few minds, has now taken 
possession of almost the entire business community, 
and constitutes therefore, beyond all former example, 
one of the great moral features of the times. I can- 
not, perhaps, briefly describe this view better than by 
denominating it, & passion for making a fortune, and 
for making it speedily. I do not, of course, mean to 
say that this passion has not existed before. The love 
of money has always been a desire so strong, that it 
has needed for its restraint, all the checks and admoni- 
tions of reason and religion. There have always been 
those who have set their ' affections and expectations 
on a fortune, as something indispensable to their hap- 
piness. There have also appeared, from time to time, 



84 THE USES OP LABOR, 

seasons of rash and raging speculation, as in the case 
of the South Sea and Mississippi stocks in England ; 
disturbing, however, but occasionally the regular pro- 
gress of business. But the case with us, now, is dif- 
ferent. We have, at length, become conversant with 
times, in which these seasons of excess and hazard in 
business are succeeding one another periodically, and 
with but brief intervals. The pursuit of property, 
and that in no moderate amount, has acquired at once, 
an unprecedented activity and universality. The 
views, with which multitudes now are entering into 
business, are not of gaining a subsistence — they dis- 
dain the thought — not barely of pursuing a proper 
and useful calling — that it is far beneath their ambition ; 
but of acquiring a fortune — of acquiring ease and 
independence. In accordance with this view, is the 
common notion of retiring from business. It is true, 
that we do not see much of this retiring, but we hear 
much about it. The passion exists, though the course 
of business is so rash as constantly to disappoint, or 
so eager as finally to overcome it. 

In saying that a great change is passing over the 
business character of the world, and that it is in some 
respects dangerous, I do not intend to say, that it is 
altogether bad, or even, that there is necessarily more 
evil than good in it. I hold it to be an advantage to 
the world, that restrictions, like those of the guilds of 
Germany and the Borough laws in England, are 
thrown off, and that a greater number of competitors 
can enter the lists, and run the race for the comforts 
and luxuries of life. The prizes, too, will be smaller 
as the competitors are more numerous ; and that, I 
hold, will be an advantage. I believe, also, that the 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 85 

system of doing business on credit, in a young and en- 
terprising country, is, within proper bounds, useful ; 
and that our own, owes a part of its unexampled 
growth and prosperity to this cause. I only say, what 
I think all will admit, that from these causes, there are 
tendencies in the business of the country which are 
dangerous. 

But to return to my statement ; I undertake to say, 
not only in general, that there are wrong practical 
tendencies, but that there is a way of thinking about 
business which is wrong. Your practical advisers 
may tell you that there has been over-trading, that 
this is the great evil, and that it must be avoided in 
future. I do not say, for I do not know, whether this 
has been the great evil or not ; but this I say, that it 
probably will not be avoided in future, if it has been 
the evil. And why not ? Because there is an evil 
beneath the evil alleged, and that is an excessive de- 
sire for property, an eagerness for fortune. In other 
words, there is a wrong way of thinking, which lies 
like a canker at the root of all wholesome moderation. 
The very idea that property is to be acquired in 
the course of ten or twenty years, which shall suffice 
for the rest of life, that by some prosperous traffic or 
grand speculation, all the labor of life is to be accom- 
plished in a brief portion of it, that by dexterous man- 
agement, a large part of the term of human existence 
is to be exonerated from the laws of industry and self- 
denial — all this way of thinking, I contend, is founded 
in a mistake of the true nature and design of business, 
and of the conditions of human well-being. 

I do not say — still to discriminate — that it is wrong 
to desire wealth, and even, with a favorable and safe 

8 



86 THE USES OF LABOR, 

opportunity, to seek the rapid accumulation of it. A 
man may have noble ends to accomplish by such ac- 
cumulation. He may design to relieve his destitute 
friends or kindred. He may desire to foster good in- 
stitutions, and to help good objects. Or, he may wish 
to retire to some other sphere of usefulness and exer- 
tion, which shall be more congenial to his taste and 
affections. But it is a different feeling, it is the desire 
of accumulation for the sake of securing a life of ease 
and gratification — for the sake of escaping from exer- 
tion and self-denial — this is the wrong way of think- 
ing which I would point out, and which I maintain to 
be common. I do not say that it is universal among 
the seekers of wealth. I do not say that all who pro- 
pose to retire from business, propose to retire to a life 
of complete indolence or indulgence ; but I say that 
many do ; and I am inclined to say, that all propose to 
themselves an independence, and an exemption from 
the necessity of exertion, which are not likely to be 
good for them ; and, moreover, that they wed them- 
selves to these ideas of independence and exemption, 
to a degree, that is altogether irrational, unchristian 
and inconsistent with the highest and noblest views of 
life. That a man should desire so to provide for him- 
self, as in case of sickness or disability, not to be a 
burthen upon his friends or the public, or in case of 
his death, that his family should not be thus dependent, 
is most reasonable, proper and wise. But that a man 
should wear out half of his life in an almost slavish 
devotion to business, that he should neglect his health, 
comfort and mind, and waste his very heart, with 
anxiety, and all to build a castle of indolence in some 
fairy land — this, I hold, to be unwise and wrong. I 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 87 

am saying nothing now of particular emergencies into 
which a man may rightly or wrongly have brought 
himself; I speak only of the general principle. 

And the principle, I say, in the first place, is un- 
wise, wrong, injurious and dangerous, with reference 
to business itself. It is easy to see that the different 
views of business, implied in the foregoing remarks, 
will impart to the whole process a different character. 
If a man enters upon it as the occupation of his life, 
if he looks upon it as a useful and honorable course, 
if he is interested in its moral uses, and, what we de- 
mand of every high-minded profession, if he thinks 
more of its uses than of its fruits — more of a high and 
honorable character than of any amount of gains — 
and if, in fine, he is willing to conform to that ordinance 
of Heaven which has appointed industry, action, effort, 
to be the spring of improvement, then, of course, he 
will calmly and patiently address himself to his task, 
and fulfil it with wisdom and moderation. But if busi- 
ness is a mere expedient to gain a fortune, a race run 
for a prize, a game played for a great stake ; then it as 
naturally follows that there will be eagerness and ab- 
sorption, hurry and anxiety ; it will be a race for the 
swift, and a game for the dexterous, and a battle for 
the strong ; life will be turned into a scene of hazard 
and strife, and its fortunes will often hang upon the 
cast of a die. 

I must add that the danger of all this is greatly in- 
creased by a circumstance already alluded to ; I mean 
the rapid expansion of the principle of political free- 
dom. Perhaps, the first natural development of that 
principle was to be looked for in the pursuit of pro- 
perty. Property is the most obvious form of individ- 



88 THE USES OF LABOR, 

ual power, the most immediate and palpable ministra- 
tion to human ambition. It was natural, when the 
weights and burthens of old restrictions were taken off, 
that men should first rush into the career of accumu- 
lation. I say restrictions; but there have been re- 
straints upon the mind, which are, perhaps, yet more 
worthy of notice. The mass of mankind, in former 
ages, have ever felt that the high and splendid prizes 
of life were not for them. They have consented to 
poverty, or to mediocrity at the utmost, as their inev- 
itable lot. But a new arena is now spread for them, 
and they are looking to the high places of society as 
within their reach. The impulse imparted to private 
ambition by this possibility, has not, I think, been fully 
considered, and it cannot, perhaps, be fully calculated. 
And it should also be brought into the account, that 
our imperfect civilization has not yet gone beyond the 
point of awarding a leading, and, perhaps, paramount 
consideration in society, to mere wealth. Conceive, 
then, what must be the effect, upon a man in humble 
and straitened circumstances, of the idea that it is pos- 
sible for him to rise to this distinction. The thoughts 
of his youth, perhaps, have been lowly and unaspir- 
ing : they have belonged to that place which has been 
assigned him in the old regime of society. But in the 
rapid progress of that equalizing system which is 
spreading itself over the world, and amidst the unpre- 
cedented facilities of modern business, a new idea is 
suddenly presented to him. As he travels along the 
dusty road of toil, visions of a palace — of splendor, 
and equipage and state, rise before him ; his may be 
the most enviable and distinguished lot in the country \ 
he who is now a slave of the counting-room or coun^ 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 89 

ter, of the work-bench or the carman's stand, may yet 
be one, to whom the highest in the land shall bow in 
homage. Conceive, I say, the effect of this new idea 
upon an individual, and upon a community. It must 
give an unprecedented and dangerous impulse to soci- 
ety. It must lead to extraordinary efforts and meas- 
ures for acquisition. It will have the most natural 
effect upon the extension of traffic and the employ- 
ment of credit. It may be expected, that in such cir- 
cumstances, men will borrow and bargain as they 
have never done before ; that the lessons of the old 
prudence will be laid aside ; that the old plodding and 
pains-taking course will not do for the excited and 
stimulated spirit of such an age. 

This eagerness for acquiring fortunes, tends equally 
to defeat the ultimate, the providential design of busi- 
ness. That design, I have said, is to train men by 
action, by labor and care, by the due exertion of their 
faculties, to mental and moral accomplishment. It is 
necessary to this end, that business should be con- 
ducted with regularity, patience and calmness ; that 
the mind should not be diverted from a fair applica^ 
tion of its powers, by any exaggerated or fanciful esti- 
mate of the results. Especially, if that contemplation 
of results involves the idea o£ escaping from all care 
and occupation, must it constantly hinder the fulfil- 
ment of the providential design. The very spirit of 
business then, is the spirit of resistance to that design. 
But even if it were not, yet it is evident, that neither 
the mental nor moral faculties of a human being have 
any fair chance, amidst agitations and anxieties, 
amidst dazzling hopes and disheartening fears. Cer- 
tainlv, it must be admitted, that a time of excessive 



90 THE USES OF LABOR, 

absorption in business, is any thing but a period of 
improvement. How many in such seasons have sunk 
in character, and in all the aims of life — have lost their 
habits of reading and reflection, their habits of medi- 
tation and prayer ! 

Business, in its ultimate, its providential design, is a 
school. Neglected, forgotten, perhaps ridiculed, as 
this consideration may be, it is the great and solemn 
truth. Man is placed in this school, as a learner of 
lessons for eternity. What he shall learn, not what he 
shall get, is of chief, of eternal import to him. As to 
property, " it is certain," to use the language of an 
Apostle, " that as we brought nothing into this world, 
we can carry nothing out of it." But there is one 
thing which we shall carry out of it, and that is, the 
character which we have formed in the very pursuits, 
by which property has been acquired. 

In the next place, this passion for rapid accumula- 
tion, thus pushed to eagerness and vehemence, and 
liable to be urged to rashness and recklessness,, leads 
to another evil, which to any rational apprehension 
of things, cannot be accounted small ; and that is the 
evil of sacrificing in business, the end to the means. 

" Live while you live," is a maxim which has a good 
sense as well as a bad one. But the man who is sa- 
crificing all the proper ends of life, for something to 
be enjoyed twenty years hence, can scarcely be said 
to live while he lives. He is not living- now in any sat- 
isfactory way, he confesses ; he is going to live by 
and by ; that is, when and where he does not live, and 
never may live ; nay, where, it is probable, he never 
will live. For not one man in thirty, of those who in- 
tend to retire from business, ever does retire. And 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 91 

yet, how many suffer this dream about retiring, to 
cheat them out of the substantial ends of acquisition — 
comfort, improvement, happiness, as they go on. 

How then stands the account ? In seeking property, 
a man has certain ends in view. Does he gain them ? 
The lowest of them— comfort — does he gain that ? 
No, he will tell you, he has little enough of comfort. 
That is to come. Having forsaken the path of regular 
and moderate and sure acquisition in which his fathers 
walked, he has plunged into an ocean of credit, spread 
the sails of adventurous speculation, is tossed upon 
the giddy and uncertain waves of a fluctuating cur- 
rency, and liable, any day, to be wrecked by the storms 
that are sweeping over the world of business. The 
means, the means — of ease, of comfort, of luxury — > 
he must have ; and yet the things themselves — ease, 
comfort, and the true enjoyment of luxury, are the very 
things which he constantly fails to reach. He is ever 
saying, that he must get out of this turmoil of business, 
and yet he never does get out of it. The very eagerness 
of the pursuit, not only deprives him of all ease and com- 
fort as he goes on, but it tends constantly to push the 
whole system of business to that excess, which brings 
about certain reaction and disappointment. Were it 
not better for him to live while he lives — to enjoy life 
as it passes ? Were it not better for him to live richer 
and die poorer ? Were it not best of all for him to 
banish from his mind, that erring dream of future in- 
dolence and indulgence ; and to address himself to the 
business of life, as the school of his earthly education ; 
to settle it with himself now, that independence if he 
gains it, is not to give him exemption from employ- 
ment ; that in order to be a happy man, he must ak 



92 THE USES OE LABOR, 

ways, with the mind or with the body, or with both, 
be a laborer ; and, in fine, that the reasonable exer- 
tion of his powers, bodily and mental, is not to be re- 
garded as mere drudgery, but as a good discipline, 
a wise ordination, a training in this primary school of 
our being, for nobler endeavors, and spheres of higher 
activity hereafter? For never surely is activity to 
cease ; and he who proposes to resign half his life to 
indolent enjoyment, can scarcely be preparing for the 
boundless range and the intenser life that is to come. 
But there are higher ends of acquisition than mere 
comfort. For I suppose, that few seekers of wealth can 
be found, who do not propose mental culture, and a 
beneficent use of property, as among their objects. 
And with a fulfilment of these purposes, a moderate 
pursuit is perfectly compatible. But how is it, when 
that pursuit becomes an eager and absorbing strife for 
fortune ? What is the language of fact and experi- 
ence ? Amidst such engrossing pursuits, is there any 
time for reading ? Are any literary habits, or any hab- 
its of mental culture, formed ? I suppose these ques- 
tions carry with them their own answer. But the 
over-busy man, though he is neglecting his mind now, 
means to repair that error by and by. That is the 
greatest mistake of all. He will not find the habits he 
wants, all prepared and ready for him, like that plea- 
sant mansion of repose to which he is looking. He 
will find habits there, indeed ; but they will be the hab- 
its he has been cultivating for twenty years; not 
those he has been neglecting, The truth he will then 
find to be, that he does not love to read or study, that 
he never did love it, and that he probably never will 
love it. 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 93 

1 do not say that reading is the only means of men- 
tal cultivation. Business itself may invigorate, en- 
large and elevate the mind. But then it must be, be- 
cause large views are taken of it ; because the mind 
travels beyond the counter and the desk, and studies 
the geography, politics and social tendencies of the 
world ; investigates the laws of trade, and the philoso- 
phy of mechanism, and speculates upon the morals 
and ends of all business. Nay, and the trader and the 
craftsman, if he would duly cultivate his mind, must, 
like the lawyer, physician and clergyman, travel be- 
yond the province of his own profession, and bring the 
contributions of every region of thought, to build him- 
self up in the strength and manhood of his intellectual 
nature. 

And therefore, 1 say, with double force of assevera- 
tion, that he who has pursued business in such a way 
as to have neglected all just mental culture, has sa- 
crificed the end to the means. He has gained money, 
and lost knowledge ; he has gained splendor, and lost 
accomplishment ; gained tinsel, and lost gold ; gained 
an estate, and lost an empire-^gained the w T orld, and 
lost his soul. 

And thus it is with all the ends of accumulation. 
The beneficent use, the moral elevation, which every 
high-minded man will propose to himself, are sacri- 
ficed in the eagerness of the pursuit. A man may 
give, and give liberally ; but this may be a very differ- 
ent thing from using property beneficently and wisely. 
I confess, that on this account, I look with exceeding 
distrust upon all our city charities ; because men have 
no time to look into the cases and questions that are pre- 
sented to them ; because they give recklessly, without 



94 THE USES OF LABOR, 

system or concert. I believe that immense streams 
of charity are annually flowing around us, which tend 
only to deepen the channels of poverty and misery. 
He who gives money, to save time, cannot be acting 
wisely for others ; and he who does good only by 
agents and almoners, cannot be acting wisely for him- 
self. And yet, this is the course to which excessive 
devotion to gain must lead. The man has no time to 
think for himself; and, therefore, custom .must be his 
law, or his clergyman, perhaps, is his conscience. 
He is an excellent disciple in the school of implicit 
submission. He attends a sound divine; he gives 
bountifully to the missions or to the alms-houses ; he 
suffers himself to be assessed, perhaps, in the one tenth 
of his income ; and there end with him all the uses and 
responsibilities of wealth. His mind is engrossed with 
acquisition to that extent, that he has no proper regard 
to the ends of acquisition. Nay more, he comes, per- 
haps, to that pass in fatuity, that he substitutes alto- 
gether the means for the end, and embraces his pos- 
sessions with the insane grasp of the miser. 

On the whole, and in fine, this passion for a fortune 
diverts man from his true dignity, his true function — 
which lies in exertion, in labor. 

I can conceive of reasons, why I might lawfully, 
and even earnestly desire a fortune. . If I could fill 
some fair palace, itself a work of art, with the produc- 
tions of lofty genius ; if I could be the friend and help- 
er of humble worth* — if I could mark it out, where 
failing health or adverse fortune pressed it hard, and 
soften or stay the bitter hours that are hastening it to 
madness or to the grave ; if I could stand between 
the oppressor and his prey, and bid the fetter and the 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 95 

dungeon give up its victim ; if I could build up great 
institutes of learning and academies of art ; if I could 
open fountains of knowledge for the people, and con- 
duct its streams in the right channels ; if I could do 
better for the poor than to bestow alms upon them — 
even to think of them, and devise plans for their eleva- 
tion in knowledge and virtue, instead of for ever open- 
ing the old reservoirs and resources for their improvi- 
dence ; if, in fine, wealth could be to me, the handmaid 
of exertion, facilitating effort and giving success to en- 
deavor, then might I lawfully, and yet warily and mod- 
estly, desire it. But if wealth is to do nothing for me 
but to minister ease and indulgence, and to place my 
children in the same bad school, I fearlessly say, though 
it be in face of the world's dread laugh, that I do hot 
see why I should desire it, and that I do not desire it ! 
Are my reasons asked for this strange decision? 
Another, in part, shall give them for me. " Two men," 
says a quaint writer, " two men I honor, and no third. 
First, the toil-worn craftsman, that with earth-made im- 
plement laboriously conquers the earth, and makes her 
man's. Venerable to me is the hard hand ; crooked, 
coarse ; wherein, notwithstanding, lies a cunning vir- 
tue, indefeasibly royal, as of the sceptre of this plan- 
et. Venerable, too, is the rugged face, all weather- 
tanned, besoiled, with its rude intelligence ; for it is 
the face of a man, living man-like. Oh, but the more 
venerable for thy rudeness, and even because we must 
pity as well as love thee ! Hardly-entreated brother ! 
For us was thy back so bent, for us were thy straight 
limbs and fingers so deformed. Thou wert our con- 
script, on whom the lot fell, and fighting our battles, 
wert so marred. For in thee, too, lay a God-created 



9t> THE USES OF LABOR, 

form, but it was not to be unfolded ; encrusted must 
it stand with the thick adhesions and defacement of la- 
bor ; and thy body, like thy soul, was not to know 
freedom. Yet toil on, toil on ; thou art in thy duty, 
be out of it who may ; thou toilest for the altogether 
indispensable, for daily bread. 

" A second man I honor, and still more highly ; him 
who is seen toiling for the spiritually indispensable ; not 
daily bread, but the bread of life. Is not he, too, in 
his duty ; endeavoring towards inward harmony ; re- 
vealing this, by act or by word, through all his out- 
ward endeavors, be they high or low ? Highest of all, 
when his outward and his inward endeavor are one ; 
when we can name him artist ; not earthly craftsman 
only, but inspired thinker, that with heaven-made im- 
plement conquers heaven for us ! If the poor and 
humble toil that we have food, must not the high and 
glorious toil for him, in return, that he have light and 
guidance, freedom, immortality ? — These two, in all 
their degrees, I honor ; all else is chaff and dust, which 
let the wind blow whither it listeth. 

" Unspeakably touching is it, however, when I find 
both dignities united ; and he, that must toil outwardly 
for the lowest of man's wants, is also toiling inwardly 
for the highest. Sublimer in this world know I noth- 
ing, than a peasant saint, could such now, any where 
be met with. Such a one will take thee back to Naz- 
areth itself; thou wilt see the splendor of heaven 
spring forth from the humblest depths of earth, like a 
light shining in great darkness."* 

And who, I ask, is that third man, that challenges 

* Thomas Carlyle. 



AND THE PASSION FOR A FORTUNE. 97 

our respect? Say, that the world were made to be 
the couch of his repose, and the heavens to curtain it. 
Grant, that the revolving earth were his rolling chariot, 
and all earth's magnificence were the drapery that 
hung around his gorgeous rest ; yet could not that au- 
gust voluptuary — let alone the puny idler of our city 
streets — win from a wise man one sentiment of re- 
spect. What is there glorious in the world, that is not 
the product of labor, either of the body or of the 
mind ? What is history but its record ? What are 
the treasures of genius and art, but its work? What 
are cultivated fields but its toil ? The busy marts, the 
rising cities, the enriched empires of the world — what 
are they, but the great treasure-houses of labor ? 
The pyramids of Egypt, the castles and towers and 
temples of Europe, the buried cities of Mexico — what 
are they but tracks, all round the world, of the mighty 
footsteps of labor ? Antiquity had not been without 
it. Without it, there were no memory of the past ; 
without it, there were no hope for the future. 

Let then labor, the world's great ordinance, take its 
proper place in the world. Let idleness too, have the 
meed that it deserves. Honor, I say be paid, where- 
ever it is due. Honor, if you please, to unchallenged 
indolence — for that which all the world admires, hath, 
no doubt, some ground for it — honor, then, to undis- 
turbed, unchallenged indolence — for it reposes on 
treasures that labor some time gained and gathered. 
It is the effigy of a man, upon a splendid mausoleum-— 
somebody built that mausoleum — somebody put that 
dead image there. Honor to him that does nothing, 
and yet does not starve ; he hath his significance still ; 
he is a standing proof that somebody has worked. 
9 



98 THE USES OF LABOR, &C. 

Nay, rather let us say, honor to the worker — to 
the toiler — to him who produces, and not alone con- 
sumes — to him who puts forth his hand to add to 
the treasure-heap of human comforts, and not alone 
to take away ! Honor to him who goes forth amidst 
the struggling elements to fight his battle, and shrinks 
not, with cowardly effeminacy, behind pillows of ease ! 
Honor to the strong muscle and the manly nerve, 
and the resolute and brave heart ! Honor to the 
sweaty brow and to the toiling brain ! Honor to the 
great and beautiful offices of humanity — to manhood's 
toil and woman's task — to parental industry, to mater- 
nal watching and weariness — to teaching wisdom and 
patient learning — to the brow of care that presides 
over the state, and to many-handed labor that toils 
in the work-shops and fields, beneath its sacred and 
guardian sway ! 



99 



DISCOURSE IV. 



ON THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 



PROVERBS XXX. 8, 9. Give me neither poverty nor 

RICHES ; LEST I BE FULL AND DENY THEE, AND SAY, WHO IS THE 
LORD? OR LEST I BE POOR, AND STEAL, AND TAKE THE NAME OF 
MY GOD IN VAIN. 

In my last discourse, I considered some of the evil 
consequences of the passion for accumulation ; in the 
present, I propose to point out some of the moral 
limits to be set to that passion. In other words, the 
limits to accumulation, the wholsome restraints upon 
the passion for it, which are prescribed by feelings of 
general philanthropy and justice, by the laws of moral- 
ity, and by a sober consideration of the natural effects 
of wealth upon ourselves, our children and the world — 
these are the topics of our present meditation. 

I cannot help feeling here the difficulties under which 
the pulpit labors, in the discussion of the points now be- 
fore us. Some, indeed, will think them unsuitable to 
the pulpit, as not being sufficiently religious. Others 
seem to be disposed to limit the pulpit to the utterance 
of general and unquestionable truths. To these views 
I cannot assent. The points which I am discussing 
are, in the highest degree, moral ; they are practically 
religious ; they belong to the morality and religion of 



100 THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 

daily life. And then again, as to what the preacher 
shall say, I do not think that he is to be confined to 
truisms, or to self-evident truths, or to truths in which 
all shall agree. We come here to deliberate on great 
questions of morality and duty ; to consider what is 
true, what is right. In doing this, the preacher may 
bring forward views in which some of his hearers 
cannot agree with him ; how, indeed, should it be 
otherwise. But he does not pretend to utter infallible 
sentences. He may be wrong. But he is none the 
less bound to utter what he does believe, and thinks to 
be worthy of attention. This office I attempt to dis- 
charge among you. And I ask you not to take ill, at 
my hands, that which you would not so take, if I utter- 
edit by your fire-sides. And if I am wrong, on some 
such occasion, perhaps, you will set me right. 

Let me proceed, then, frankly to lay before you 
some reflections that have impressed my own mind, 
in regard to the limitations which good feeling, justice 
and wisdom ought, perhaps, to set to the pursuit of 
wealth. 

In the first place, then, I doubt whether this im- 
mense accumulation in a few hands, while the rest 
of the world is comparatively poor, does not imply an 
unequal, an unfair distribution of the rewards of indus- 
try. I may be wrong on this point, and if I were con^ 
sidered as speaking with any authority from the pulpit, 
I should not make the suggestion. Yet speaking as I 
do, with no assumption, but with the modesty of 
doubt, I shall venture to submit this point to your 
consideration. 

It would seem to be an evident principle of human^ 
ity and justice, that property and the means of con> 



THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 101 

fort should bear some proportion to men's industry. 
Now we know that they do not. I am not denying 
that, in general, the hard-working man labors less 
with the mind ; and that he is often kept poor, either 
by improvidence and wastefulness, or because he has 
less energy and sagacity than others bring into the bu- 
siness of life. I do not advocate any absurd system of 
agrarian levelling. I believe that wealth was designed 
to accumulate in certain hands, to a certain extent ; 
because, I perceive, that this naturally results from the 
superior talents and efforts of certain individuals. But 
I cannot help thinking, that the disproportion is greater 
than it ought to be. 

In order to bring this question home to your appre- 
hension, let me ask you to suppose that some years 
ago, any one of you had come to this city with a be- 
loved brother, to prepare for a life of business. Let 
me suppose that you had been placed with a mer- 
chant, and he with a carman ; both, lawful, useful and 
necessary callings in society; somebody must dis- 
charge each of these offices. Now you know that 
the results would probably be, that you would be rich, 
or at least possessed of an easy property, and that he 
would be poor ; or at any rate, that you would have 
a fair chance of acquiring a fortune from your indus- 
try, and that he would have no such chance from his 
industry. Now let me further suppose, that you did not 
treat him as some men treat their poor relations ; pass- 
ing them by and striving to forget them — almost wish- 
ing they did not exist ; but that you continued on 
terms of kind and intimate intercourse with him ; that 
you constantly interchanged visits with him, and could 
compare the splendor of your dwelling with the pov- 



102 THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 

erty of his ; I ask you if you would not feel, if you 
could help feeling, that society had dealt unjustly with 
you and with him in this matter ? But I say that 
every man is your brother ; and that what you would 
thus feel for your brother, you are bound to feel for 
every man ! 

I know that it is said in regard to accumulation in 
general, that capital has its claims ; but I cannot help 
thinking that they are overrated, in comparison with 
the claims of human nerves and sinews. Suppose 
that of a thousand men engaged in a great manufac- 
turing establishment, ten possess the capital and over- 
see the establishment, and the nine hundred and ninety 
do the work. Can it be right, that the ten should 
grow to immense wealth, and that the nine hundred 
and ninety should be for ever poor ? I admit, that 
something is to be allowed for the risk taken by the 
capitalist. I have heard it pleaded, indeed, that he is 
extremely liable to fail, and often does so— while the 
poor, heaven help them ! never fail. But it seems to 
me, that this consideration is not quite fairly pleaded. 
It is said, that there is a risk. But does not the capi- 
talist, to a certain extent, make the risk ? Is not his 
risk, often in proportion to the urgency with which he 
pushes the business of accumulation, and to that neg- 
lect arid infidelity of his agents and workmen, which 
must spring from their having so slight a common in- 
terest with him in his undertakings ? The risks will 
be smaller when the pursuit of property is more re- 
strained and reasonable ; and when the rewards of 
industiy are more equal and just. But I hear it said 
again, that " the poor are wasteful ; and that to in- 
crease their wages, is only to increase their vices." 



THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 103 

Let me tell you, that poverty is the parent of impro- 
vidence and desperation. Those who have been 
brought up in that school may very probably, for a 
while, abuse their increased means. But in the long 
run, it cannot be so. Nay, by the very terms of your 
proposition, the abuse will cease with the desperation 
of poverty. Give the poor some hope ; give them 
some means ; give them something to lean upon ; give 
them some interest in the order and welfare of society ; 
and they will become less wasteful, less reckless and 
vicious. 

Indeed, is it not obvious, can any one with his eyes 
open deny, that the extremes of condition in the 
world, the extremes of wealth and poverty, furnish us 
with the extremes of vice and dissipation ? And does 
not this fact settle and prove, beyond all question, that 
it is desirable that accumulation should be restrained 
within some bounds, on the one hand, and on the oth- 
er, that indigence should be lessened ? What is the 
state, of the operatives in the manufacturing districts 
of England ? Only worse, than that of the idlers in 
that kingdom, who are living and rioting upon over- 
grown fortunes. Let the conditions of men approach 
the same inequality in this or any other country, and 
we shall witness the same results. The tendency of 
things among us, I rejoice to believe, is not to that re- 
sult, but it is, no doubt, the constant tendency of pri- 
vate ambition. 

I am sensible, my friends, that I have made a large 
demand on your candor, in laying this question before 
you. It is paying the highest compliment I could pay 
to your fairness of mind. I only ask that you will 
treat my argument with equal generosity. 



104 THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION 

But I proceed to another point. In order to the 
rapid accumulation of property, in all ordinary cases, 
a great expansion of credit is necessary. A man can 
not grow suddenly rich by the labor of his hands, and 
he must therefore use the property or the promises of 
others, in order to compass this end. Now, there is a 
question which I have never seen stated in the books 
of moral philosophy, which I have not heard discussed 
in the pulpit, and yet it is a point which deserves a 
place in the code of commercial morality ; and that is, 
how far it is right for a man to use credit — that is, to 
extend his business, beyond his actual capital ? I am 
sensible that it is extremely difficult, if it is not indeed 
impossible, to lay down any exact rule on this subject ; 
and yet it seems to me none the less worthy of con- 
sideration. Certainly, it must be admitted, that there 
is a point somewhere, beyond which it is not prudent* 
and, therefore, not right, to go. Certainly, it can not 
be right, as it appears to me, for a man to use all the 
credit he can get. It could not be right, for instance* 
that upon a capital of ten thousand, a man should do 
a business of ten millions. No man ought to trust his 
powers to such an indefinable extent. No man's cred- 
itors, were he to fail, could be satisfied with his having 
accepted trusts from others in the shape of credits* 
which common prudence shall pronounce to be rash 
and hazardous. There is a common prudence, if there 
is no exact rule about this matter ; and the borrower 
is most especially bound to observe it ; and certainly, 
every honest man, being a borrower, would observe 
it, if he did but sufficiently think of it. The want of 
this thought is the very reason why I bring forward 
the subject. 



THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 105 

With regard to the rule, I have it as the deliberate 
opinion of one of the greatest bankers in Europe, that 
a man should not extend his business to more than 
three times his capital, and if it be a large business, to 
not more than twice his capital. I do not say that this 
is the rule, though I have the greatest respect for the 
judgment that laid it down. I do not say that it is 
the rule, because I am advised on the other hand, by 
very competent judges, that the rule must vary ex- 
ceedingly with the different kinds of business which a 
man may pursue. 

I do not undertake, then, to lay down any particular 
rule, but I urge the claims of general prudence. I wish 
to call attention to this point. I am persuaded that 
it is for want of reflection and not from want of prin- 
ciple, that many have adventured out upon an ocean 
of credit, where they have not only suffered shipwreck 
themselves, but carried down many a goodly vessel 
with them. It is said, that the Government have spread 
temptation before the people, by adopting measures 
which lead to extraordinary issues of bank paper. It 
may be so ; I believe that it is so ; though this can 
scarcely be supposed by the most jealous, to have 
been a matter of design. But grant that it be so ; 
what I maintain is, that the people ought not to have 
yielded to the temptation, to the extent that many have 
done. The borrower, I hold, is specially and solemnly 
bound to be prudent. He is bound to be more pru- 
dent in the use of other men's property, than of his 
own. A man should be more cautious in taking cre- 
dit, than in using capital. But I fear that the very re- 
verse of this is commonly the fact. I fear that most 
men are more reckless when they use the means which 



106 THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 

credit gives them, than they would be in using their 
own absolute and fixed property* In small matters, 
we know that immediate payment is a check to ex- 
penditure. Why is it, but for this, that every petty 
dealer is anxious to open a credit with your family ? 
He knows that your expenditures will be freer, your 
purchases larger, and that a more considerable 
amount will be made up at the end of the year, be- 
cause you buy on credit. But to look at the subject 
in a wider view ; I know that some men do plunge 
more recklessly into the great game of business, be- 
cause the game is played with credit ; with counters, 
and not with coins. I have heard it observed, and 1 
confess, that it was with a coolness and nonchalance 
that amazed me, that a man may as well take a good 
strong hold of business while he is about it, since he 
has nothing to lose by it. The sentiment is monstrous. 
It ought to shake the very foundations of every ware- 
house where it is uttered. There ought to be a sacred 
caution in the use of credit. And although I cannot 
pretend to define the precise law of its extension, 
yet this I will say, that never till I see a man adven- 
turing his own property more freely than he adven- 
tures that which he borrows of his neighbor, can I 
think he is right. Let this great, and undeniably just 
moral principle be established ; and I am persuaded 
that we shall at once see a wholesome restraint laid 
upon the use of credit. 

There is one further point to which I wish to invite 
your attention ; and that is the practice, in cases of 
bankruptcy, of giving preference to certain creditors, 
who have made loans on that condition. Now, I 
maintain, that no man ought to offer credit, and that 



THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 10? 

no man ought to accept it, on that condition. The 
practice is abolished in England, and I know that 
there it is regarded as bringing a stain upon the com- 
mercial morality of this country. 

I do not mean to charge with personal dereliction 
any person who has, in times past, taken advantage of 
this rule. It has been the rule of the country, and has 
passed unquestioned. And so long as it has been the 
rule, and money has been borrowed and lent on that 
principle, and it was considered right so to do, it was 
perhaps right, as between man and man, that cases of 
insolvency should be settled on that principle. But as 
a theoretical principle of general application, I hold, 
that it is utterly wrong. Our laws indeed disallow it, 
and public opinion ought not, for another hour, to sus- 
tain it. 

The principle is dishonest. It is treachery to the 
body of a man's creditors. He appeared before them 
with a certain amount of means ; and upon the 
strength of those means, they were willing to give him 
credit. Those means were the implied condition, the 
very basis of the loan ; without them they would not 
have made it. They saw that he had a large stock of 
goods ; that he was doing a large business, and they 
thought there was no danger. They depended, 
in fact, upon that visible property, in case of difficul- 
ties. But difficulty arises, failure comes ; and then 
they find that much or all of that property is preoccu- 
pied and wrested from their hands, by certain confi- 
dential pledges. If they had known this, they would 
have stood aloof, and therefore, I say, that there is 
essential deception in the case. 

Again, lending on such a principle loses all its gene- 



108 THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 

rosity, and borrowing is liable to lose all the prudence 
and virtue that properly belong to it. If a man lends 
to his young friend or relative, on the sole strength of 
affection and confidence towards him, it is a trans- 
action which bestows a grace upon mercantile life. 
But if he lends as a preference creditor, he takes no 
risk, and shows no confidence. For he knows, that the 
borrower upon the strength of his loan, can easily get 
property enough into his hands, to make him perfectly 
secure. And let it be observed, that in proportion as 
the acquisition of confidence is less necessary ; in pro- 
portion, that is to say, as virtue and ability are less 
necessary to set up a man in business, are they less 
likely to be cultivated : and so far as this principle 
goes, therefore, it tends to sap and undermine the 
w r hole business character of a country. Nay, it is 
easy to see, that under the cloak of these confidential 
transactions, the entire business between the borrower 
and lender may be the grossest and most iniquitous 
gambling. Of course, I do not say that this is common. 
But I say that the principle ought not to be tolerated, 
which is capable of such abuses. 

This principle, I think, moreover, is the very key- 
stone of the arch, that supports many an overgrown 
fabric of credit. And this observation has a two-fold 
bearing. Much of the credit that is obtained, could 
not exist without this principle. That is one thing ; 
but furthermore, I hold, that all the extension of 
credit which depends on this principle, ought not to 
exist at all. It ought not, because the principle is dis- 
honest and treacherous. And it would not, because 
the first credit which often puts a man in the possession 
of visible means, is not given on the strength of con- 



THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 109 

fidence in him, but on the strength of the secret 
pledge ; and then the after credits are based on those 
visible means. Let every man that borrows tell, as 
he ought to do, the amount of his confidential obliga- 
tions, and many would find their credit seriously cur- 
tailed. And to that extent, most assuredly, it ought to 
be curtailed. 

I have thus spoken of the spirit of gain as liable — 
not as always being, but as liable to be, in conflict 
with the great principles of social and commercial 
justice. I might add, that the manner in which the 
gains of business are sometimes clung to, amidst the 
wreck of fortunes, is a powerful and striking illus- 
tration of the same moral danger. He who regards 
no limits of justice in acquiring property, will break 
all bonds of justice to keep it 

And here I must carefully and widely distinguish. 
I give all honor to the spirit which many among us 
have shown in such circumstances ; to the manly for- 
titude and disinterestedness of men, who have com- 
paratively cared nothing for themselves, but who have 
been almost crushed to the earth by what they have 
suffered for their friends ; to the heroic cheerfulness 
and soothing tenderness of woman in such an hour, 
ready to part with every luxury, and holding the very 
pearl of her life, in the unsullied integrity of her hus- 
band. I know full well, that that lofty integrity is the 
only rule ever thought of by many, in the painful adjust- 
ment of their broken fortunes. And I know and the 
public knows, that if they retain a portion of their 
splendor for a season, it is reluctantly, and because it 
cannot, in the present circumstances, be profitably dis- 
posed of — and in strict trust for their creditors. But, 
10 



HO THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION, 

there are bankrupts of a different character, as you 
well know. I do not know that any such are in this 
presence ; but if there were a congregation of such 
before me, I should speak no otherwise than I shall 
now speak. I say, that there are men of a different 
character ; men who intend permanently to keep back 
a part of the price which they have sworn to pay ; 
and I tell you, that God's altar, at which I minister, 
shall hear no word from me, concerning them, but a 
word of denunciation. It is dishonesty, and it ought 
to be infamy. It is robbery, though it live in splendor 
and ride in state ; robbery, I say, as truly as if, instead 
of inhabiting a palace, it were consigned to the dun- 
geons of Sing-Sing. And take care, my brethren, as 
ye shall stand at the judgment-bar of conscience and 
of God, that ye fall not at all beneath this temptation. 
The times are times of sore and dreadful peril to the 
virtue of the country. They are times in which it is 
necessary, even for honest men, to gird up the loins 
of their minds, and to be sober and watchful; ay, 
watchful over themselves. Remember, all such, I ad- 
jure you, that the dearest fortune you can carry into 
the world, will not compensate you for the least iota 
of your integrity surrendered and given up. Oh ! 
sweeter in the lowliest dwelling to which you may de- 
scend, shall be the thought that you have kept your 
integrity immaculate, than all the concentrated essence 
of luxury to your taste, all its combined softness to 
your couch, all its gathered splendor to your state. 
Ay, prouder shall you be in the humblest seat, than if, 
with ill-kept gains, you sat upon the throne of a kingdom. 
I come now to consider, in the last place, the limi- 
tations to be set to the desire of wealth, by a sober 



THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 1 1 L 

consideration of its too probable effects upon ourselves, 
upon our children, and upon the world at large. And 
here, let me ask two preliminary questions. 

Can that be so necessary to human well-being, as 
many consider wealth to be, which necessarily falls to 
the lot but of a few ? Can that be the very feast and 
wine of life, when but a few thousands of the human 
race, are allowed to partake of it ? If it were so, 
surely God's providence were less kind and liberal 
than we are bound to think it. God has not made a 
world of rich men, but rather a world of poor men ; 
or of men, at least, who must toil for a subsistence. 
That then must be the good condition for man ; nay. 
the best condition ; and we see, indeed, that it is the 
grand sphere of human improvement. 

In the next place, can that be so important to human 
welfare, which, if it were possessed by all, would be 
the most fatal injury possible ? And here I must desire., 
that every person whose pursuit of property, this 
question may effect, will extend his thoughts beyond 
himself. He may say that it would be a good thing if 
he could acquire wealth, and perhaps it would. He 
may say that he does not see that riches would do 
him any harm, and, perhaps, they would not. He 
may have views that ennoble the pursuit of for- 
tune. But the question is ; would it be well and 
safe, for four-fifths of the business community around 
him to become opulent ? He must remember that his 
neighbors have sought as well as he, and in a propor- 
tion, too, not far distant from what I have stated. 
They have sought, and had as good a right to succeed, 
as he had. Would it be well that so general an ex- 
pectation of fortune, should be gratified ? Would it 



112 THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 

be well for society ; well for the world ? Only carry 
the supposition a little farther ; only suppose the whole 
world to acquire wealth \ only suppose it were possi- 
ble that the present generation could lay up a com- 
plete provision for the next, as some men desire to do 
for their children ; and you destroy the world at a 
single blow. All industry would cease with the neces- 
sity for it ; all improvement would stop with the de- 
mand for exertion; the dissipation of fortunes, whose 
mischiefs are now countervailed by the healthful tone 
of society, would then breed universal disease, and 
break out into universal license \ and the world would 
sink into the grave of its own loathsome vices. 

But let us look more closely, for a moment, at 
the general effect of wealth upon individuals and up- 
on nations. 

I am obliged, then, to regard with considerable dis- 
trust, the influence of wealth upon individuals. I know 
that it is a mere instrument, which may be converted 
to good or to bad ends. I know that it is often used 
for good ends. But I more than doubt whether the 
chances lean that way. Independence and luxury 
are not likely to be good for any man. Leisure and 
luxury are almost always bad for every man. I know 
that there are noble exceptions. But I have seen so 
much of the evil effect of wealth upon the mind — 
making it proud, haughty and impatient, robbing it of 
its simplicity, modesty and humility, bereaving it of its 
large and gentle and considerate humanity; and I 
have heard such testimonies, such astonishing testimo- 
nies to the same effect, from those whose professional 
business it is to settle and adjust the affairs of large 
estates, that I more and more distrust its boasted ad- 



THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 113 

vantages. I deny the validity of that boast. In truth, 
I am sick of the world's admiration of wealth. Al- 
most all the noblest things that have been achiev- 
ed in the world, have been achieved by poor men ; 
poor scholars and professional men ; poor artisans 
and artists ; poor philosophers, and poets, and men of 
genius. 

It does appear to me, that there is a certain staidness 
and sobriety, a certain moderation and restraint, a cer- 
tain pressure of circumstances, that is good for man. 
His body was not made for luxuries ; it sickens, sinks 
and dies under them. His mind was not made for 
indulgence. It grows weak, effeminate and dwarfish, 
under that condition. It is good for us to bear the 
yoke ; and it is especially good to bear the yoke in our 
youth. I am persuaded that many children are injured 
by too much attention, too much care ; by too many 
servants at home ; too many lessons at school ; too 
many indulgences in society. They are not left suffi- 
ciently to exert their own powers, to invent their own 
amusements, to make their own way. They are often 
inefficient and unhappy, they lack ingenuity and ener- 
gy, because they are taken out of the school of prov- 
idence ; and placed in one which our own foolish fond- 
ness and pride have built for them. Wealth, without 
a law of entail to help it, has always lacked the energy 
even to keep its own treasures. They drop from its 
imbecile hand. What an extraordinary revolution in 
domestic life is that, which, in this respect, is presented 
to us all over the world ! A man, trained in the school 
of industry and frugality, acquires a large estate. His 
children possibly keep it. But the third generation 
almost inevitably goes down the rolling wheel of for- 
10* 



114 THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 

tune, and there learns the energy necessary to rise 
again. And yet we are, almost all of us, anxious to 
put our children, or to ensure that our grand-children 
shall be put, on this road to indulgence, luxury, vice, 
degradation and ruin ! 

This excessive desire and admiration for wealth, is 
one of the worst traits in our modern civilization. We 
are, if I may say so, in an unfortunate dilemma in this 
matter. Our political civilization has opened the way 
for multitudes to wealth, and created an insatiable de- 
sire for it ; but our mental civilization has not gone far 
enough, to make a right use of it. If wealth were em- 
ployed in promoting mental culture at home, and works 
of philanthropy abroad ; if it were multiplying studios 
of art, and building up institutions of learning around 
us ; if it were every way raising the intellectual and 
moral character of the world, there could scarcely be 
too much of it. But if the utmost aim, effort and am- 
bition of wealth, be to procure rich furniture, and pro- 
vide costly entertainments, I am inclined to say, that 
there could scarcely be too little of it. " It employs 
the poor," do I hear it said ? Better that it were divi- 
ded with the poor. Willing enough am I, that it should 
be in few hands, if they will use it nobly — with tem- 
perate self-restraint and wise philanthropy. But on 
no other condition, will I admit that it is a good, either 
for its possessors or for any body else. I do not deny 
that it may lawfully be, to a certain extent, the minis- 
ter of elegancies and luxuries, and the handmaid of 
hospitality and physical enjoyment ; but this I say, 
that just in such proportion as its tendencies, divested 
of all higher aims and tastes, are running that way, 
are they running to evil and to peril. 



THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION. 115 

That peril, moreover, does not attach to individuals 
and families alone ; but it stands, a fearful beacon, in 
the experience of cities and empires. The lessons of 
past times, on this subject, are emphatic and solemn. 
I undertake to say that the history of wealth, has al- 
ways been a history of corruption and downfall. The 
people never existed that could stand the trial. 

Boundless profusion — alas ! for humanity — is too 
little likely to spread for any people, the theatre of 
manly energy, rigid self-denial, and lofty virtue. 
Where is the bone and sinew and strength of a coun- 
try ? Where do you expect to find its loftiest talents 
and virtues ? Where its martyrs to patriotism or re- 
ligion ? Where are the men to meet the days of peril 
and disaster ? Do you look for them among the chil- 
dren of ease and indulgence and luxury ? 

All history answers. In the great march of the ra- 
ces of men over the earth, we have always seen opu- 
lence and luxury sinking before poverty and toil and 
hardy nurture. It is the very law that has presided 
over the great processions of empire. Sidon and Tyre, 
whose merchants possessed the wealth of princes ; Bab- 
ylon and Palmyra, the seats of Asiatic luxury; Rome, 
laden with the spoils of a world, overwhelmed by her 
own vices more than by the hosts of her enemies — 
all these, and many more, are examples of the de- 
structive tendencies of immense and unnatural accu- 
mulation. No lesson in history is so clear, so impres- 
sive* as this. 

I trust, indeed, that our modern, our Christian cities 
and kingdoms are to be saved from such disastrous is- 
sues. I trust that, by the appropriation of wealth,, 
less to purposes of private gratification, and more to 



116 THE MORAL LIMITS OF ACCUMULATION, 

purposes of Christian philanthropy and public spirit, 
we are to be saved. But this is the very point on 
which I insist. Men must become more generous and 
benevolent, not more selfish and effeminate, as they 
become more rich, or the history of modern wealth 
will follow in the sad train of all past examples ; and 
the story of American prosperity and of English opu- 
lence, will be told as a moral, in empires beyond the 
Rocky Mountains, or in the newly-discovered conti- 
nents of the Asiatic Seas ! 



117 



DISCOURSE V. 

ON THE NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL RELATIONS OF 
SOCIETY. 



LUKE X, 29. And who is my neighbor ? 

What is society ? And what are the ties that give 
to society its strength, dignity and beauty? 

Let us make the attempt, though it will be dif- 
ficult, to lay aside all conventional ideas of this sub- 
ject ; and endeavor to contemplate it in the spirit of 
generous philosophy, and more beneficent Christianity. 
What is society, not as man has made it, but in its 
original elements and just relations? — what is it, in the 
constitution of God ? What did he design that man 
should be to man, and what fhe bond between them ? 

The answer is given in words of authority. " Thou 
shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." It is the bond of 
kind neighborhood, of gentle affinity, of gracious sym- 
pathy. And " who is my neighbor ?" Again, the sa- 
cred text answers. It is the Samaritan, the sinner, 
the sufferer. It is he who is cast down and trodden 
under foot. It is he who lies by the way-side, ne- 
glected and despised. Every man is your neighbor. 
No matter what is his condition, his clime, his nation. 
No matter from what country, trodden down with op- 



118 ON SOCIETY. 

pression, he hath come. No matter in what prison- 
house he hath toiled ; or in what mournful garb, pover- 
ty or neglect hath clothed him. If he can say, " I am 
a man," he puts forward a sacred and venerable claim. 
If he who could say, " I am a Roman citizen," could 
rouse in his behalf the sympathies of a whole mighty 
people ; he who can say, "lama man," should touch 
the heart of all mankind. 

It is the claim of a common nature which God has 
laid upon us. As strong as the bond of humanity it- 
self, he has made the common tie. Nay, more ; and 
dear as are the interests which he has committed to the 
sacred depository of each human bosom, and power- 
ful as are the influences which one human being can 
exert upon another, has he made the obligation of love, 
pity and humanity to the common welfare. Human- 
ity ! the universal counterpart of each man's self ! the 
multiplication of one's self into millions of suffering or 
happy beings ! — well might the Latin poet say, " I am 
a man, and nothing is foreign, nothing far from me, that 
is human." And when a crowded Roman theatre 
once rose up in admiration of that noble sentiment, it 
was a homage as fit as it was beautiful. And fitly, 
from that day to this, has been borne, in the literature 
and on the bosom of nations, the record of that touch- 
ing and noble saying. 

But when I look more deeply into that humanity, 
and consider what it is, I feel that such a sentiment 
rises above generosity, and takes the character of sanc- 
tity and even of sublimity. I see a circle drawn around 
each human being, which it is not only sin, but sacri- 
lege, to invade. For what is within that sacred pale 
that girds about every human heart? Joy, sorrow; 



ON SOCIETY. 119 

fear, hope ; need ; the need of happiness, and — more 
sacred and awful still — the need of virtue ! There, 
God hath made a being, whom nothing but virtue can 
suffice ; whom nothing but infinity and eternity will 
content. I speak not the language of theology, but of 
fact. So God hath made us. That mighty burthen 
of a spiritual and divine need rests upon every human 
heart ; and nothing but the Almighty power that placed 
it there, can ever relieve it. It is your soul, my friend, 
that bears this dread charge ; but it is the soul of him, 
whosoever he be, that standeth next you in the world- 
ly crowd ; it is every soul in this assembly ; it is every 
man in the world. Human society is the society of 
beings so charged and entrusted. And if a congress 
of kings and potentates shall be thought an imposing 
spectacle, and to demand the most heedful considera- 
tion and treatment from one to the other, what shall 
be the higher law for beings who act for virtue, for 
heaven and for eternity ! 

Were it only happiness that is concerned, yet in the 
mysterious and inexplicable feeling of individuality 
which we all possess, the veriest outcast by the way- 
side, has as much at stake, as the monarch on his 
guarded throne. Poor men and rich men have, indeed, 
their distinct resorts and reliances ; but there are no 
such things as a rich man's joy, and a poor man's joy. 
Happiness hath no respect of persons. It is as dear 
to one man as to another ; and the feeling that makes 
it so, is not of man's, but of God's creating. And the 
sharp visitation of pain, whether it finds its way through 
the beggar's rags or the prince's cloth of gold, is alike 
sore and bitter to abide. Suffering is not an accident 
of our condition, but an ingredient of our being. Dis- 



120 ON SOCIETY. 

ease, whether it knocks at the cottage-wicket or the 
castle-gate, sends its thrilling summons, in equal: disre- 
gard of haughty grandeur and shrinking penury. The 
inmates of the one, when revolving, beneath their hum- 
ble roof, the fortunes of their lives, feel that they have, 
in their happiness, as much at stake, as the lofty pos- 
sessors of the other; and in that essential respect, 
they have as much at stake. 

To what conclusion, then, do we arrive ? Is it a 
strange or an unexpected conclusion ? — for this it is — 
that without any respect to external condition, one 
man has just as much right to have his virtue and hap- 
piness regarded, as another man ! Is there a man here, 
who can look upon joy or sorrow with indifference, 
because they are found in a meaner garb than his own ? 
I will not compromise, for one moment, the principle 
I maintain. I abhor that man, and I will say it. I 
abhor him, as worse than a traitor to his country, as 
a traitor to humanity. And I appeal, for my justifi- 
cation, to the most ordinary sentiments of every gen- 
erous mind. Would you make that man your friend, 
who could take pleasure in wantonly crushing an in- 
sect ? What will you think, then, of the man, who 
could coldly disregard, or carelessly wound, the feel- 
ings of a fellow-creature ? 

I have not wished to linger upon these preliminary 
steps ; and, therefore, I hasten to observe that we 
have thus come, by a direct path, to the consideration 
of social relationships. They are of two kinds, natu- 
ral and artificial ; and my purpose is, of course, not 
to go over the whole ground — which would require 
volumes for the survey of it— but only to touch upon 
such points as are particularly pressed upon our no- 



ON SOCIETY. 121 

tice, by the present condition of society. The natural 
relations of society are such as spring from necessity, 
and may be considered as ordained by our Creator ; 
the artificial are those which are devised and regulated 
by man. 

Of those which are natural, or necessary to society 
itself — though there are many, such as those of husband 
and wife, parent and child, guardian and ward, broth- 
ers and sisters, I shall consider only the single but 
comprehensive relation of employers and employed ; 
or, in other words, that of master and apprentice, 
householder and domestic, rich and poor. These are 
certainly among the inevitable relations of human be- 
ings ; and no progress of the world, in civilization or 
Christianity, may ever be expected to abolish them. 

Our business with them, then, is not to extirpate but 
to improve them ; and the questions that arise on this 
point, are of some delicacy, and need to be touched 
with a careful hand. I frankly confess myself to be 
among the number of those, who think that the feudal 
distinctions of former days, the old relations of master 
and servant, have transmitted to us some errors, which 
need to be done away ; and which, in this country, 
must be done away. But, on the contrary, I do not 
hold at all, with those visionary persons, who expect 
that all distinctions in society will cease, and that men 
will stand on the level of perfect equality. Nay more, 
I maintain, that both necessity and propriety demand 
that the manners of different classes of society to- 
wards each other, shall differ. The manner of him 
who directs, must differ from the manner of him who 
is directed. On the one hand, there must be authori- 
ty, or direction, if you please so to call it ; and, on the 

11 



122 ON SOCIETY. 

other, acquiescence. The relation, indeed, is volunta- 
ry ; no man among us is obliged to be the agent, work- 
man, or domestic of another. But if he is such, then 
the relation requires that he should yield the acquies- 
cence in question. And to that acquiescence, I repeat, 
a certain manner is appropriate : not slavish or obse- 
quious, but cheerful and courteous. And I especially 
insist, that neither party is ever to forget the respect 
and kindness which are due from one human being to 
another. 

But this great bond of humanity is, doubtless, often 
disregarded by both parties. Men strive and wrangle 
with each other, and are guilty of scorn or spite in their 
behavior, forgetting what they are — forgetting that 
they are creatures of the same God, children of one 
common Father. On which side the fault chiefly lies, 
at the present era of American society, I confess, that 
I am in doubt. Up to this time, or nearly to this time, 
I should have confidently said, that it was, where it 
always has been — with the class of employers. Power 
is ever liable to beget pride, injustice, and a haughty de- 
meanor. But in a community where the class of the 
employed has become so independent, as it is in ours ; 
where the sense of past injuries is rankling in the 
mind ; where many false maxims tend to make ail ap- 
parent inferiority peculiarly galling, and where the old 
conventional manners, once considered appropriate to 
that condition, are breaking up, the consequence is but 
too likely to be in many, revolt, recklessness, discour- 
tesy and despite. 

On which side the greatest courtesy and kindness 
are to be found, I will not decide ; nor is it necessary 
in order to urging the duties that belong to both. 



ON SOCIETY. 123 

Let me offer it as a leading observation, that these 
duties, in this country, have assumed a new character, 
and a new importance. The relation of employers 
and employed among us is new. The workman here 
does not come to his employer, bowing and cringing 
for service, as the only thing that can keep him from 
starving. He stands before the great and powerful 
contractor or merchant, on a footing of compara- 
tive independence — of such independence, at least, as 
was never before known in any country. His labor 
is in request ; if one man does not want it, another 
does. He is not obliged to sell it on such terms, as 
often grind to the dust, the artisan of Birmingham and 
Manchester, or the lazzaroni of Naples, or the palan- 
kin-bearer of Calcutta. This state of things, indeed, 
suggests some admonitions to the laboring classes, 
which I shall not fail to address to them. But at the 
same time, it imposes on employers some things, which 
I shall ask them to do more than submit to, as a matter 
of necessity. It calls them to consider and respect, 
more than employers have ever before done, the great 
claims of a common humanity. f 

I protest, then, against all overbearing haughtiness, 
and every thing that indicates a want of respect and 
kindness, on the part of the employer. I do not say 
how common this treatment of the poor man is. I do 
not say, that there are ten men in this assembly who 
are guilty of it. But if there is one, then, I say, that 
upon that case, I lay the heaviest weight of moral re- 
probation. I plead the great cause of humanity. I 
tell you that he who stands before you- with a coarse 
garb and sweaty brow, is yet a man ; and that he is to 
be regarded and felt for as a man. Must I resort to 



124: cm society. 

the very alphabet of Christianity, to teach you what is 
due to him ? Must I remind you, that " God hath 
made of one blood all nations of men to dwell on the 
face of the earth ?" Must I tell you, that " God hath 
made the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of a 
kingdom," amidst whose splendors all the appendages 
of your condition are but perishing bawbles ? Must I 
tell you, that the man, whom you are liable in your 
power to treat with injustice or indignity, may be a 
nobler man than you ; dearer to God, and more wor- 
thy of all true respect than you are ? Must I say in 
so many words, that he has feelings, as keen and sen- 
sitive,, it may be, as your own ? Must I say, that ail 
the touching and venerable claims of humanity are 
stamped upon him as well as upon you — that wife and 
children and home, happiness and hope and heaven, 
are as dear to him as to you 1 What right have you, 
and where did you find it, to treat him any otherwise 
than as a brother man ! You are, indeed, to give di- 
rections, and he is to follow them. But that is a sim- 
ple compact between you, and does not compromise 
the respectability of either. And beyond that, I say, 
that there is no law of substantial courtesy and kindness 
which is not to be observed between you. It is true, 
that men whose hands and eyes are occupied with 
strenuous toil or business, cannot be engaged with 
making bows to each other ; and this is not what I in- 
sist upon. But I would make the laborer understand, 
that I respect him according to his merits, as truly as 
I respect the gentleman ; and I would make the gen- 
tleman, who had no merits, understand, that I respect 
the honest and worthy laborer a thousand times more. 
What ! shall I bring down the principles of eternal 



ON SOCIETY 125 

truth and justice, so low, that they may be buried in 
the plaited folds of a rich man's garment ? Truth and 
justice forbid ! Worth is worth ; and no garb, before 
my eyes, shall ever clothe meanness with honor, or 
sink virtue to contempt. 

We are all possessed, it is probable, with conven- 
tional notions on this subject, which expose us to do 
considerable injustice. Man looketh on the outward 
appearance. But, I hold, that he who does not strive 
in favor of principle and humanity, to correct the mis- 
takes of worldly sense and fashion, is no noble or 
Christian man. And I say, too, that he who would 
assume all the airs of unfeeling superiority, which the 
spirit of society will tolerate, is either inexcusably 
thoughtless, or detestably unprincipled, and is just fit to 
be an oppressor in Russia, a tyrant in Constantinople, 
if not a man-stealer in Africa. And, I maintain, more- 
over, that Christianity itself has made but little pro- 
gress, where this care and consideration for our kind 
are not cherished. Vainly will you try to reconcile 
any man's claims to Christian virtue, with harshness 
and insolence to his dependants. He may go from 
the very worship of God to this scorn and despite of 
man — it avails not. The spirit of Christ is the spirit 
of philanthropy. "He who loveth not his brother 
whom he hath seen ; how doth he love God whom he 
hath not seen !" 

Nor is it enough to refrain from oppression and in- 
solence. There are duties belonging to the relation of 
the employer. He is bound to feel an interest in his 
dependants, beyond that of obtaining their services. 
This interest he takes in his horse or his ox. This is 
not enough, to be felt for a human being. The man 
11* 



\ 



126 ON SOCIETY. 

who labors in your garden, or in your warehouse, or 
your manufactory, is not to be looked upon as a mere 
machine that is accomplishing so much work, and af- 
ter it is done, to be dismissed without a further thought. 
You ought to think kindly of that man, and to consid- 
er how you can, as a fellow-being, act towards him a 
brotherly part. You may find ways enough of doing 
this, without going out of your sphere, and without 
being officious, or ostentatious, or offensively patron- 
ising in your kindness. Your very manners, inspiring 
in those who labor for you, good will, cheerfulness and 
self-respect, may do much. Yes, your very manners 
may do more for their happiness and virtue, than if you 
doubled their wages, or gave them the most liberal 
presents. You may also speak kindly to them, of their 
welfare and of their families. You may become their 
adviser and friend. You may induce them to deposit 
a portion of their earnings in a savings' bank ; and that 
money, so laid up and gradually accumulating, will be 
one of the best securities for their growing virtue and 
courage and self-respect. You may sometimes give 
them an interesting book to read — at least, during the 
leisure of Sunday, if they have no other time — and it 
will be a means both of safety and improvement on 
that holy day. You may make them feel that they 
have, in you and in your family, those who know them 
and take a friendly interest in their respectability and 
good conduct ; and they might be made to know, that 
if you should some day go home to your splendid 
dwelling, and say, that such or such an one had been, 
that day, intoxicated, or a brawler in the streets, it 
would spread a sadness over the face of that bright 
and happy circle. Your children might sometimes go 



ON SOCIETY. 127 

to their children in sickness or in trouble, and kindly 
take them by the hand. No fear, that the hand, nur- 
tured and softened in the bosom of luxury, would be 
soiled by that contact. There is a work of our great- 
est sculptor,* which represents a child-angel as con- 
ducting another child to heaven. Were it not a beau- 
tiful vision, realized into life ? Oh ! when I think what 
rich families might do for poor families,, what min- 
istering angels they might be, to raise up the low and 
the fallen, to comfort, to virtue and to heaven, my heart 
swells at the contemplation ; and I say, when, shall the 
vision be realized into life ? 

Yet, let us not despair. There are things already 
done in our noble city, which forbid despair. I say, 
our noble city ; and when I say this, I am not thinking 
of our splendid dwellings, of our wealth pouring in 
through a thousand channels, of our commerce spread- 
ing the sounding banners of its prosperous march over 
every sea, nor of that mighty repairing of our desola- 
tions, which the last year has witnessed ; but I am 
thinking of the works of mercy that are done in this 
city. It is a fact, and I must state it with some for- 
mality, because to most persons it will be new and as- 
tonishing, that there is scarcely a poor family in our 
city, which is not regularly visited, by some Sunday- 
school teacher, or tract distributor, or minister at large, 
with a view to its moral enlightening and renovation, 
God bless and prosper the noble band, who have thus 
gone forth into our waste places ! — they are young 
men, many of them, rising into life, with their own 
cares and affairs to attend to ; they are young women, 

* Greencugh. 



128 ON SOCIETY. 

some of them of our wealthiest families, and others, 
who depend upon the labors of their needle for their 
subsistence ; noble missionaries of mercy ! fair sisters 
of charity ! — again, I bid them God speed ! I bless 
them for my own sake, and for your sake — and in the 
name of Christ. When I came to this city, a little 
more than two years ago, I confess, that the mighty 
mass of what seemed to me its desperate wickedness 
and misery, weighed upon my mind as a heavy bur- 
then. It was a professional feeling, if you please so 
to consider it ; my office called me to look upon the 
moral interests of men ; and I almost shrunk from a 
residence in the presence of evils so stupendous, and, 
as I thought, so incapable of any but the most distant 
relief. But within two years, I have learned that the 
dread wastes which stretched out before me, in dark- 
ness and silence, are filled with benevolent action ; 
that their long-neglected thresholds are tracked thickly 
over with footsteps of mercy, and their desolate walls 
are echoing the voices of Christian truth and love.. 
Let the good work be deepened in any proportion to 
its extent ; and this city will present the long-desired 
example, of a great commercial emporium, purified by 
the beneficent instrumentality of its own prosperous 
inhabitants. 

But to return ; there is another sphere for female 
talent and virtue which I wish to point out ; and that 
is beneath the domestic roof. I say talent ; for to re- 
gulate a family of domestics in this country, is really an 
acheivement of intellect as well as of virtue. The dif- 
ficulties springing from the state of domestic service 
among us, I need not dwell upon. They are well 
known. They are, in fact, the great palpable difficult 



ON SOCIETY. 12D 

ties of domestic life throughout the country. The real 
difficulties, indeed, are not those which are palpable ; 
they lie deeper ; they lie in the mind ; and it is to the 
removal of these, that I would solicit your attention. 
And let it be considered that the difficulties of the case, 
so far as they lie in the situation of the parties, cannot 
be removed ; and that if any relief is to be found, it 
must be found in the mind. The relation of house- 
holders and domestics, in this country, is new. The 
latter are not dependant on the former, as they are in 
other countries. They have not the same interest to 
satisfy you. They have not the same anxiety to keep 
their place, as if the alternative were penury or star- 
vation : and I trust they never will have. Whether 
you are satisfied, is not the only question. If they are 
not satisfied too, they may retire from your service r 
and readily find employment elsewhere. What thenv 
amidst all the difficulties of this situation is to be done ? 
Perpetual changes in a domestic establishment ; no 
security against its being half broken up almost any 
day ; no necessity, on the part of those who tempora- 
rily compose it, of holding their place longer than the 
caprice or the whim of the moment may dictate ; no 
bond of necessity for their good behavior, like that 
which presses upon every other occupation, since they 
do not look upon their station as a permanent one, nor 
feel that they are taking a character to live and die by 
— they are looking to better their condition, to estab- 
lish themselves in life, to pursue an independent course 
— all these things, I say, occasion immense inconveni- 
ence, and the severest trials of temper. What then, 
is to give us relief? I say plainly and firmly, that I' 
do not regret this independence of the class of domes* 



130 ON SOCIETY. 

tics. I am glad that they can look to separate and per- 
manent establishments. It is a fortunate condition for 
them. But even if it were not, it is theirs beyond re- 
covery; and, therefore, the only relief must come 
through a consideration towards them, hitherto un- 
known in the world — a consideration respectful, wise, 
Christian-like and kind. And here is the field for fe- 
male talent and virtue, to which I have already re- 
ferred. She who has the immediate charge of a fam- 
ily, should make her assistants feel from the first, that 
she does not wish to regard them as hirelings, but as 
faithful friends. If, hardened by custom, or puffed up 
with pride, or absorbed in fashion, she never thinks ot 
them but to exact from them their tasks, she must not 
wonder, if they never think of her but to earn the 
price of those tasks. Committed to her care, subjected 
in a measure to her influence, as fellow-beings, she is 
bound to respect, cherish and love them. She ought 
to study their character, to consider their situation, 
wants and feelings, to promote the improvement 
of their minds and hearts, to provide for their grat- 
ification and entertainment, to make them cheerful 
and happy if possible, to make them feel that her 
interest is common with theirs, and, in fine, to treat 
them, as she might reasonably wish to be treated in 
change of circumstances. Will you tell me that when 
all this is done, many of them will prove extremely un- 
grateful ? I must be allowed to doubt, when such is 
the result, whether all this is done. That is the very 
point to be reached ; the removal of that ingratitude ; 
the removal of that soured and irritated feeling, that 
often settles at the bottom of the heart, even when 
there is the effervescence of many kind emotions on 



ON SOCIETY. 131 

the surface. And it is not to be forgotten, that there 
are grievances too, in the condition of the employed, 
which furnish some ground for this irritated feeling. 
Those who listen to me, may imagine that all the com- 
plaint, since they hear no other, is on one side. What 
incessant trials, you say, there are with servants ! But 
I can tell you of places where all the complaint is on 
the other side — of departments in the domestic estab- 
lishment, where all the confidential communings toge- 
ther, are filled with complaints of the master or mis- 
tress, or of their children. 

This is a case, in short, where there are faults on 
both sides. And this is the impression, in fine, which 
I wish to make on the heads of families. I know that 
there are families where all is going on kindly and 
quietly, and I think that the number of such is increas- 
ing. But where it is not, I would admonish you against 
the injustice of supposing that all is right on your part. 
It was Pestalozzi, I think, who had the generosity to 
say, when his pupils did not learn, that the fault was 
his own ; and this, doubtless, as a general maxim, is 
partly true. And this, without doubt, if not equally, 
is, in a measure, true of the masters of families, who 
fail in their office. If they would generously admit 
this, instead of constantly complaining of their difficul- 
ties, they would be prepared resolutely to address 
themselves to the task of working out that great reform 
in domestic manners and morals, which the very con- 
stitution of society among us demands. The general, 
who cannot command men ; the contractor or over- 
seer, who is always vexed by the insubordination and 
insolence of his workmen, is usually reputed to be 
guilty of some fault or deficiency on his part. And 



132 ON SOCIETY. 

this, I think, must be accounted equally true of the 
heads of a family who fail in like manner. I will only 
add, that the mighty power which controls all human 
beings, whether in the camp, the manufactory, or the 
workshop, is judicious kindness ; and that this must be 
the controlling power in all well-ordered and happy 
families. 

Let me now say one word to the class of the em- 
ployed ; and especially, of domestics. Why should it 
be thought a hardship or a degradation, to minister to 
the comfort and happiness of our fellow-beings ? It is 
the high office, the noble bond of humanity to assist* 
to serve one another. It appears to me, that I could 
take a sincere pleasure in ministering to the daily and 
hourly satisfactions of any one, with whom circum- 
stances had for a time connected me ; in smoothing 
his path for him ; in relieving him from annoyances 
and vexations ; in facilitating his business, his studies, 
or his enjoyments. What an affection, in this domestic 
relation, what a true friendship might one win from 
another, never to end but with life ? And what a hap- 
piness would this be to carry away from a family, ra- 
ther than to retire in anger, and to have one's retire- 
ment felt as a relief! 

I say, that it is no disgrace to give this domestic as- 
sistance. It is not slavery ; it is a respectable compact, 
which one finds it expedient to make with another. 
And the only real disgrace is in being unfaithful to the 
terms of that compact. We are made to serve one 
another. We are all servants. The man who stands 
in his warehouse or behind his counter, and sells goods 
to another, is his servant for the time. The lawyer is 
the servant of his clients, the physician of his patients, 



ON SOCIETY. 133 

and the clergyman of his people. The highest in the 
land is only so much more, the servant of all. 

The domestic but stands in one of the • many rela- 
tions of service ; one that is alike ordained of Heaven, 
and which, therefore, cannot be intrinsically dishonor- 
able. He is apt, I know, to imagine that the distinc- 
tions which are made between him and his employers, 
the different situations and apartments which he occu- 
pies, his separation from them in the offices of life, in 
conversation, amusements, meals, &c, imply some 
discredit. But all this, let him observe, is necessary 
to the general comfort, and to his own comfort. If 
any ten persons were to unite to form a domestic es- 
tablishment, they would find the very distinctions now 
complained of, to be inevitable. Some must give di-^ 
rections, and others must follow them. Some must 
provide entertainments, and others must give them. 
Some must prepare and serve dinner, and others must 
partake of it. These conditions cannot be blended, 
without absolute confusion and discomfort. All that 
could be demanded in the case supposed, would be a 
rotation of these offices. But can this be fairly de- 
manded in actual life ? Can it be expected, that he 
who has built a house, and furnished it, and who pays 
all its expenses, should not occupy the highest situation 
in it ? I might as well demand that my neighbor, who 
lives at the next door, should not occupy a grander 
house than mine, should not have a more splendid 
equipage, or keep a more luxurious table. Nay, many 
domestics live in more style, dress better, and feed 
more daintily, than multitudes of the poor, who live in 
their own dwellings. And those poor might as well 
demand, that those above them, should not be better 
12 



134 ON SOCIETY. 

off than they are. In short, the feeling that would re- 
sist the conditions of domestic service, could not stop 
till it levelled all human conditions to literal equality. 
The rich man must part with his riches, the industri- 
ous with his gains, the advanced in life with the ac- 
quisitions of many years, that he may share his advan- 
tages with the young, the negligent, or the poor. 

It appears to me, that any sensible young man or 
woman entering into life, may easily comprehend this 
argument. And if he does, let him patiently and cheer- 
fully address himself to his task, as appointed to him by 
Providence. Let him endeavor so to discharge it, that 
the result in him shall be, not an irritated temper, a 
soured mind, an unfaithfnl practice, but that gentle- 
ness, kindness and fidelity, that shall raise him above 
all human distinctions. 

I must turn now to a consideration, more brief in- 
deed, of the artificial relations of society; and here, 
too, I shall confine myself to a single point — to 'the re- 
lations created in society by fashion. They are artifi- 
cial, inasmuch as they are not founded on merit or 
mental culture, or even on wealth ; nor are they re- 
quired by the necessities of society. They are the or- 
dinances not of nature, but of caprice, pride and am- 
bition. They do not depend on different " modes of 
living ; because in this country, at least, the same con- 
veniences, comforts and elegances, substantially, are 
found in different circles ; and we have no idle class. 
They seem to depend more than upon any thing else, 
upon the determination of those who consider them- 
selves as above, to keep down, and to keep out, those 
who are below. That refinement should shrink from 
vulgarity, and intelligence from ignorance, and sense 



ON SOCIETY. 135 

from folly, I can understand, and understand to be 
reasonable ; but whether these are the terms on which 
the fashionable classes, of this or any other country, 
stand towards the rest of the world, I leave you to 
judge. I confess, that to me, fashion seems to stand 
upon a much coarser and more worldly estimate of 
things than this. 

It is difficult, I allow, to assign any law to its ca- 
price. But that which appears to me to go far- 
ther than any thing else, to explain its movements, 
changes and vagaries, is the desire to escape from the 
(so called) vulgar multitude. The silly multitude 
strives hard to keep up with fashion, in dress, equi- 
page, etiquette and modes of living ; but the moment it 
comes in sight, that Proteus thing changes its form. 
The multitude comes up, and finds nothing but a taw- 
dry and forsaken image. The spirit of fashion has 
taken another form. Wealth is the most favorite hand- 
maid of fashion, as enabling it to make the most fre- 
quent and splendid changes, and as being itself, indeed, 
the distinction but of a few. If wealth could purchase 
the exclusive privilege of wearing coarse apparel, it 
would, doubtless, avail itself of the distinction. We see 
opulent fashion, indeed, in its fantasies as it would 
seem, but really on principle, sometimes putting on 
coarse garments, for the sake of a day's singularity. 

This passion has lead its votaries, in the great cities 
of Europe, to resort to a device, which there seems to be 
some disposition among ourselves, absurdly enough, to 
copy; and that is the notable device of turning night 
into day. There the multitude cannot follow. Busi- 
ness must be done in the day-time. The idle and luxu- 
rious classes of Europe, have, therefore, found at last, 



136 



ON SOCIETY. 



a world for themselves. They have surrounded them- 
selves with a wall of darkness ; and they strive within 
it, to make a day of their own, which God has not 
made. But this violation of the laws of nature, exacts 
of them sharp penalties. Disease lurks in the splendid 
purlieus of fashionable indulgence ; and the dews of 
night penetrate their frames with aches and pains, that 
pay dear for hours of unnatural dissipation and ex- 
cess. But that in a country which has no idle class, 
w T here all must do business, and where, too, the earlier 
hours of eating, leave the body exhausted at late even- 
ing, and so demanding stimulants to support it — that 
in such a country and under such circumstances, this 
absurd practice should be gaining ground, is a striking 
proof to what lengths the folly of fashionable imitation 
will go. 

It is on this account that I protest against the spirit 
of fashion. The spirit of fashion I say ; for I am less 
concerned with its particular arrangements. And 
when I speak of its spirit, let me not be understood to 
ascribe it to all the members of this class. I have 
lived too long to judge men by classes. I am far 
enough from saying, that all who belong to this class 
in particular, are heartless and insincere, or exclusive 
and proud. I am happy to know that the contrary is 
the fact. 

But there is a spirit that is properly denominated the 
spirit of fashion. It is a spirit of exclusion. It is a 
spirit that wars against the great claims of humanity. 
It is a spirit that is haughty, cold and unkind, to those 
who are deemed inferior. It does not regard their 
rights, interests and feelings. It forgets that they are 
men. 



ON SOCIETY. 137 

It is on this account, on account of its essential in- 
humanity, that I regard that exclusiveness, which fash- 
ion has introduced, not into one circle only, but into 
the entire mass of society, as worthy of the severest 
reprehension. And when I say this exclusiveness, I 
do not speak of any particular rules of exclusion. 
Distinctions there must be, certainly ; different circles, 
doubtless. Intimacies are to be forced upon no man. 
Every man has a right to accept such associates as he 
chooses. It is not of the particular arrangements of 
society that I now speak, but of its general spirit, of 
the unchristian exclusion and scorn that prevail in it. 
And it is not purse-proud ignorance, or vulgar assump- 
tion alone, that is liable to this charge. It is not those 
only, who treat those, reputed to be beneath them, 
with contempt, or speak to them in the tones of harsh 
authority. There are many, who have too much good 
breeding and good sense, to assume these rude man- 
ners, yet in whom the feeling of exclusion and superi- 
ority, is just as strong. The veil of courtesy, that is 
thrown over the feeling, does not at all diminish its 
power. 

The claim to notice, from such persons, is some dis- 
tinction. It may be talent, it may be wealth, but it is, 
above all, the opinion of others ; it is eclat in the eyes 
of the world — it is, especially, belonging to a certain 
class in society. There is an instinctive shrinking, as 
if from contagion, from all but this. There is a cer- 
tain distinction, then ; there is a charmed circle, with- 
in which the social exclusionist entrenches himself, and 
that circle is surrounded as with an electric chain, 
which sends quick and thrilling sensibility through ev- 
ery part. But touch an individual in that circle — but 
12* 



138 ON SOCIETY. 

mention his name, and the man or the woman we are 
speaking of, feels it instantly ; attention is on the alert ; 
the ear is opened to every word ; there is the utmost 
desire to know, or to seem to know, the individual in 
question ; — there is an eagerness to talk about him, a 
lively interest in all that concerns him. Is he sick, or 
is he well ? — is he in this place, or in that place ?■ — the 
most ordinary circumstances rise to great importance, 
the moment they are connected with him. But, now, 
do you speak of a person out of that circle — be it of 
fashion, or birth, or wealth, or talent, or be it a circle 
composed of some or all of these ; and suddenly the 
social exclusionist has passed through a total metamor- 
phosis. He says not a word, perhaps : he settles the 
matter more briefly, and at less expense. His manner 
speaks. There is an absolute, an unspeakable indiffer- 
ence. He knows nothing about persons of that class, 
who, alas ! have nothing in this world to make them 
interesting, but their mind and heart. And if you speak 
of such one, he opens his eyes upon you, as if he 
scarcely comprehended what part of the creation you 
are talking about. And when he is made, at length, 
to recognize a thing so unimportant, as the concerns 
of a fellow-being, held to be inferior, you find that he 
is included with a multitude of others, under the sum- 
mary phrase of "those people," or, "that sort of peo- 
ple ;" and with such, you would find that he scarcely 
more acknowledges the tie of a common nature, than 
with the actually inferior beings of the animal creation. 
This feeling of selfish and proud exclusion is confin- 
ed to no one class. I wish we could say, that it is lim- 
ited to any one grade of character. I wish we could 
say, that it did not infect the minds of many persons, 



ON SOCIETY. 139 

otherwise, of great merit and worth. I wish we 
could say, that any one is exempt from it. Living, 
growing up, as we all have been, in a selfish world, 
educated, more or less, by worldly maxims, we have 
none of us, perhaps, felt as we ought, the sacred claim 
of human nature — felt our minds thrill to its touch, as 
to an electric chain — felt ourselves bound with the 
bands of holy human sympathy — felt that all human 
thought, desire, want, weakness, hope, joy and grief, 
were our own — ours to commune with and to partake 
of. Few have felt this ; for it is always the attribute 
of the holiest philanthropy, or of the loftiest genius. 
Of the loftiest genius, I repeat ; for I venture to say, 
that all such genius has ever been distinguished by its 
earnest sympathy and sacred interest in all human 
feeling. And why should we not feel it ? The very 
dog, that goes and lies down and dies upon the grave 
of his master, will almost draw a tear from us, so near 
does he approach to human affection. And when the 
war-horse, that has carried his rider through many 
battles, bows his neck, and thrills through his whole 
frame, at the . approach and touch of that master's 
hand, we feel something more than respect, towards 
the noble animal. Oh ! sacred humanity ! how art 
thou dishonored by thy children, when the merest ap- 
pendage of thy condition, the mere brute companion 
of thy fortunes, is more regarded than thou ! 

What a picture does human society present to us ! 
If I were to represent the world in vision, I should 
say that I see it, not as that interchange of hill and 
dale which now spreads around me, but as one vast 
mountain ; and all the multitudes that cover it, are 
struggling to rise ; and those who, in my vision, seem 



140 ON SOCIETY. 

to be above, instead of holding friendly intercourse 
with those who are below, are endeavoring, all the 
while to look over them, or building barriers and fen- 
ces to keep them down ; and every lower grade is us- 
ing the same treatment towards those who are beneath 
them, that* they bitterly and scornfully complain of, 
in those who are above ; all but the topmost circle, 
imitators as well as competitors, injuring as well as in- 
jured ; and the topmost circle — with no more to gain, 
revelling or sleeping upon its perilous heights, or dizzy 
with its elevation — soon falls from its pinnacle of pride, 
giving place to others, who share in constant succes- 
sion the same fate. Such is the miserable struggle of 
social ambition all the world over. And every thing, 
I had almost said, is helping it on: every thing, but 
the loftiest — I say not common — every thing but the 
loftiest intellect, like that of Milton, or of Shakspeare ; 
every thing but simple and holy religion, like that of 
the Gospel — but that religion which came to bless the 
poor, and the broken in fortune, and the bruised in 
heart. These holier influences, alas I have as yet been 
comparatively but little felt. All else, I repeat, has 
helped on the evil strife — institutions, maxims, pas- 
sions, the tone of education, the spirit of society ; nay, 
even history, poetry, romance ; the entire body of our 
literature has been prostituted to the unholy work. 
The image of human pride has been set up, like the 
abomination of desolation spoken of by the prophet, in 
the holy place ; it has stood where it ought not — in the 
holy places of human nature ; it has removed the al- 
tar where men ought to worship ; it has overshadow- 
ed the paths of society ; it has blighted the fruits of 
honest and ingenuous virtue ; it has crushed many 



ON SOCIETY. 141 

of the noblest and most generous affections of the 
human heart. 

It is time that wise and good men, men who can 
afford to rest on their intrinsic dignity and worth, 
who, in imitation of the holy Master, are above the 
fear of being confounded with the mean and base, but 
not above the blessed labor of doing good to all, as 
they have opportunity — it is time that Christians, 
especially, the followers of the meek and lowly Jesus, 
should see this subject in a new light. We talk about 
" ordinary people ;" and this phrase, you will often 
hear pronounced in a tone the most self-sufficient and 
disdainful. Now, I shall venture to say, that in a most 
material, in the most material respect, nobody is ordi- 
na?y. Human nature is not an ordinary thing. That 
nature which is capable of knowledge, which can rise 
to heavenly virtue, which is destined to immortality, 
is not an ordinary thing, to be trampled down with a 
hasty footstep, or to be passed by with a tone or phrase 
of compendious scorn. There is many a work of 
human hands, that we should not treat in this manner. 
There are names of ancient genius, which bring a 
glow into the cheek, as we mention them. And if the 
work of such an one was before us — if we saw the 
most common statue or monument that had come 
from the chisel of Phidias, or a faded cartoon from 
the pencil of Raphael, we should not contemptuously 
pronounce it an " ordinary thing." If we used this 
phrase at all, we should do it with a care and con- 
sideration, conveying the highest compliment. And 
are less care and consideration to be used, when we 
are speaking of the " offspring," the work, " the very 
image" of our Creator? I would not fastidiously re- 



142 ON SOCIETY. 

strict the freedom of colloquial language. But I do 
think it a serious question, whether any language, im- 
plying scorn of our fellow-beings, should be used with- 
out extreme caution and discrimination, and without 
a feeling of evident pity and regret, that a being so 
nobly gifted, should so degrade himself. The meanest 
knave, the basest profligate, the reeling drunkard — 
what a picture does he present of a glorious nature in 
ruins ! Let a tear fall, as he passes. Let us blame 
and abhor, if we must, but let us reverence and pity 
still. What hopes are cast down ! what powers are 
wasted ! what means, what indefinite possibilities of 
improvement are turned into gloomy disappointment ! 
what is the man, and what might he be ! The very 
body, with its fine organization, with its wonderful 
workmanship, groans and sickens when it is made 
the instrument of base indulgence ! The spirit sighs, 
in its secret places, over its meanness, its treachery 
and dishonor i There is a nobler mind, in the degra- 
ded body, that retires within itself, and will not look 
through the dimmed eye, and will not shine in the 
bloated and stolid countenance : there is a holier con- 
science, that will not strengthen the arm that is 
stretched out to defraud — but sometimes makes that 
arm tremble with its paralyzing touch, and sometimes 
shakes, as with thunder, the whole soul of the guilty 
transgressor ! 

But it is not so extreme a case, that comes within 
the range of ordinary and practical consideration. 
You are surrounded with a mass of fellow-beings, 
most of whom have not lost the common and natural 
claims to respect. You have a wrong and unworthy 
pride — (let him that heareth, understand — let him that 



ON SOCIETY. 143 

to whom this belongs, receive it— I say not to whom — 
but I say without much fear of misapplication) — you 
have a wrong and unworthy pride, which leads you 
to pass by your inferiors, as you consider them, with 
cold neglect or slight, or to bestow upon them those 
patronizing airs, that are more difficult to bear. And 
I say that you degrade not others, so much as you 
degrade yourself, by these manners. You show a 
mind bound up in worse than spiritual pride ; that 
says, " stand by thyself, for I am — not holier ; that were 
indeed a claim to respect, could it be sustained — but 
I am more fashionable than thou." You show that 
your mind has not been in the noblest school. 

The celebrated Walter Scott has somewhere ob- 
served, in his popular works, that, in an ordinary ride 
in a stage-coach, he never found a man so dull, as not 
to communicate to him — if a free conversation were 
opened — something, which he would have been very 
sorry not to have heard. It was a noble observation ; 
and the practice which it implied, no doubt, contrib- 
uted much to that deep knowledge of human nature, 
for which this great author is so much distinguished. 

But it is not as a fine sentiment, or as a useful 
maxim, that I urge this mutual respect. I say it is a 
duty. I will listen to no language of haughty preten- 
sion, or fastidious taste, or over-refined doubt ; I say 
it is a duty. I say it is a duty, most especially bind- 
ing on all Christians ; yes, binding upon all who make 
any pretensions to a belief in the religion of Jesus 
Christ. And remember, too, my brethren, that it is a 
duty which will one day be felt, which will enforce con- 
viction through sanctions more commanding, through 
a judgment more awful, than that of the sages, or the 



144 ON SOCIETY. 

preachers of this world. There is an hour coming, 
when all worldly distinctions shall vanish away ; when 
splendid sin, with all its pride, shall sink prostrate and 
cowering before the eye of the eternal Judge ; when 
the modest merit that it could not look upon here, nay, 
when the virtuous poverty that was spurned from its 
gate, shall wear a crown of honor ; when Dives shall 
lift up his eyes being in torment, and Lazarus shall be 
borne in Abraham's bosom to the presence of the 
angels of God ; when the great gulf which shall sepa- 
rate men from one another, shall separate not between 
outward splendor and meanness, but between inward, 
spiritual, essential purity and pollution. Let the judg- 
ment of that hour be our judgment now. That which 
will be true there, is true here — is true now. Let 
that severe and solemn discrimination find its way into 
this world. For it is written, " He that exalteth him- 
self shall be humbled, and he that humbleth himself, 
shall be exalted." 



145 



DISCOURSE VI. 

ON THE MORAL EVILS TO WHICH AMERICAN SOCIETY 
IS EXPOSED. 



ACTS XVII. 27. And hath made of one blood all nations 

OF MEN, TO DWELL ON ALL THE FACE OF THE EARTH. 

The principle of equality here stated, lies at the 
foundation of our political institutions. It is the first 
and main principle in our celebrated declaration of 
Independence. I have heard some flippant disputers 
maintain, that that declaration is false ; because (they 
say) men are, in fact, not " born equal." As if it 
could have been intended to assert, that all men are 
born with equal wit or wealth, or of equal strength 
or stature. The equality which we contend for in this 
country is an equality, not of powers, but of rights. 
It is an equality before the law. 

But this qualification being made, our assertion of 
the doctrine of equality, is strong and emphatic, That 
which I have said in a former discourse is, in fact, a 
part of our political creed — " that, without any re- 
spect to external condition, one man has as much 
right to have his virtue and happiness regarded as 
another." The feeling which every human being en- 
tertains, that he has, in his welfare, as dear an interest 
13 



146 MORAL EXPOSURES 

at stake, as any other man, is here perfectly respected. 
No man among us is allowed to say to any one of his 
fellow-citizens, " you are of a meaner class, and it 
matters little what becomes of you ; you may be trod- 
den under foot with impunity." The law spreads its 
protecting shield over the weakest and humblest man 
in the community, and it says to the highest and the 
haughtiest, " thou shalt not touch a hair of his head, 
^vbut by the judgment of his peers." 

But the leading feature of our political condition is, 
that this law is ordained by the majority of the people. 
The law allows a certain freedom, and it imposes cer- 
tain restrictions ; but it is the majority that determines 
the extent of the one, and the limit of the other. This, 
I say, is the peculiar feature of our political condition. 
While, in most other countries, these points are deter- 
mined by prescriptive usages, or by irresponsible 
orders of men, it is here left to the whole body of the 
people. 

This state of things, of course, raises every indivi- 
dual in society to power and importance. Meanwhile, 
the collective body has already swept from its path, 
all permanent, hereditary distinctions. It has opened 
to merit a free course, by which it may rise to the 
highest places in society and government. 

This principle of equality, thus obviously fitted to 
produce a direct and powerful effect on society, lends 
extraordinary force to another power of equal import- 
ance, in its bearing on our social character ; and that 
is the power of public opinion. Public opinion, in this 
country, is the aggregate of universal opinion. It is 
not the opinion of the rich and fashionable, nor of 
princes and nobles ; it is the opinion of every body. 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 147 

It is the opinion of every body, and it affects every 
body. It is like suffrage, universal, and awarding all 
distinction. It is like the atmosphere ; it presses every 
man, and on every side. And — what is especially 
worthy of consideration — like the atmosphere, it leaves 
men unconscious of its power. You move your hand 
easily and freely in the air, though philosophers tell 
you, that the weight of the air is equal to fifteen 
pounds upon every square inch of it. Let a vacuum 
be made on one side of you, and that invisible force, 
of which you are so insensible, would hurl you to the 
earth as with a thunderbolt. It seldoms happens, in- 
deed, that a man is so circumstanced with regard to 
public opinion; and there is, too, a moral power 
which, against all opinion, can stand firm ; — " faithful 
found amidst the faithless." There is such a power ; 
but few men are conscious on how many lesser occa- 
sions it is necessary to exert it ; how liable they are 
to be, not crushed indeed, but swayed from their in- 
tegrity and independence, by those potent influences, 
assent and dissent, praise and dispraise, flattery and 
ridicule ; and above all, by the breath of the bound- 
less multitude — the mighty atmosphere of opinion that 
surrounds us. The effect of every thing that is uni- 
versal, is, in like manner, apt to be unperceived ; and 
I think it the more important, therefore, to point out 
some of those dangers to our social character, which 
arise both from our equality, and from that public 
opinion to which it gives an almost despotic power. 

I. And the first danger which I shall notice, and this 
arises particularly from our equality, is that of cold- 
ness and reserve in our manners. 

I may observe here, in entering upon these details, 



148 MORAL EXPOSURES 

that our exposures in the respects which I shall mention, 
are only such as appertain to human nature in such 
circumstances. Thus, with regard to this trait of re- 
serve, I shall venture to lay it down as an unquestion- 
able fact, that the progress of nations towards equali- 
ty, has always been marked by it. England has long 
been the freest country in Europe. Its manners are 
proverbial for their reserve. I do not deny that there 
are other causes for this, but I have no doubt that the 
rise of the lower classes in the scale of society, is one. 
Nay, and it is observable that with the more rapid 
steps of reform, this reserve has been more rapidly 
gaining upon the English character. It is remarked, 
that the higher classes are more and more withdraw- 
ing themselves from the amusements and sports of the 
common people. 

A writer* on the manners and customs of Spain, 
fifteen years ago, has, unintentionally, given a very 
striking illustration of the general position, on which I 
am insisting. " The line of distinction," he says, " be- 
tween the noblesse and the unprivileged class, being 
here drawn with the greatest precision, there cannot 
be a more disagreeable place for such as are, by edu- 
cation, above the lower ranks, yet have the misfortune 
of a plebeian birth." We shall immediately see the 
reason of this. "An honest respectable laborer," he 
says, "without ambition, yet with a conscious dignity 
of mind not uncommon among the Spanish peasantry, 
may, in this respect, well be an object of envy to ma- 
ny of his betters. Gentlemen treat them with a less 
haughty and distant air, than is used in England to- 

* Doblado's Letters. 



OP AMERICAN SOCIETY. 149 

wards inferiors and dependants. A rabadan, (chief 
shepherd,) or an aperador, (steward,) is always indulg- 
ed with a seat, when speaking on business with his 
master ; and men of the first distinction will have a 
kind word for every peasant, when riding about the 
country. Yet they will exclude from their club and 
billiard table, a well-educated man, because, forsooth, 
he has no legal title to a Don before his name." 

The author here states important facts, but he does 
not give the reasons for them. Why, then, is it, that 
the Spanish gentry treat their dependants with a less 
haughty and distant air, than the English ? It is, pre- 
cisely, because the line of distinction between them is 
drawn with the greatest exactness. And why, is it, 
that those plebeians, who have the misfortune to be 
well-educated, are an exception to this liberal treat- 
ment ? It is simply because, in cultivation and man- 
ners, they approach nearer to their superiors. It is 
because they have claims, which it is found necessary 
to resist by some means ; and the natural barrier is 
reserve. 

But in this country there is no other barrier. All 
the defences of birth and rank are broken down. 
Here, every man not only has claims, but claims which 
he is allowed freely to put forward. Hence, the guards 
against intrusion among us ; the cautions and contri- 
vances used to avoid intercourse with persons held to 
be inferior ; the engagements pleaded, ay, and plan- 
ned, to escape such fatal contact and contamination. 
Hence, the sensitive dread of being thought vulgar ; 
and hence, for one reason, the decline of almost all 
the homely old domestic and village sports, lest they 
should bring with them that terrible opprobium. An 
13* 



150 MORAL EXPOSURES 

aristocratic state of society naturally produces courte- 
sy, contentment, order ; a republican, ambition, ener- 
gy, improvement. I have seen a tree on the smooth 
and verdant lawn, which spread far its branches in un- 
challenged majesty to the sky, and whose outermost 
boughs nodded to the violets that grew by its side, and 
kissed the greensward beneath it ; and in its shadow 
were the games and sports of a contented and cheer- 
ful peasantry. And 1 have seen a forest, whose intru- 
sive underwood choked up the passages, and forced 
the loftier trees to stretch away from their compan- 
ions, and tower up towards heaven ; and there was 
neither space nor time there for games or sports. 

This, no doubt, in the mouth of an adversary, would 
be thought a most invidious comparison. But I am 
prepared to accept the very ground on which it places 
us, and to defend it. If the agriculturist may hold it 
to be an advantage, that ten trees should grow where 
one grew before ; surely, the humane political econo- 
mist may value that, condition which is favorable to 
the growth of men — to the growth of the many. So 
well am I satisfied with our institutions on this account, 
that I can afford to look fairly at the inconveniences 
and dangers that attend them. I trust, indeed, that 
much Of the inconvenient uiider-brusk will be cleared 
away from our paths, and that we shall see a fairer 
growth ; in other words, that more perfect relations 
in society will spring up from the general and equal 
claims of all. In the meantime, we have less fawning 
and sycophancy among us, than prevail in other coun- 
tries. We have fewer parasitical plants in pur forest 
state, than are found clinging around the oaks and 
elms of Europe. But it must not. be denied, that we 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 151 

are sometimes chilled by the shadow of this thick 
growth of society ; that we are too liable, each one to 
stand stiffly up for his rights ; that we are liable to want 
gracefulness and amenity in our manners ; that we 
are exposed to have our hearts locked up in rigid and 
frozen reserve. A prince or a nobleman, in a state of 
unbroken aristocracy, does not fear that his dignity or 
reputation will be compromised, by the presence of 
an inferior, in his house or in his society. He is at 
ease on this point, because his claims stand on an in- 
dependent basis. But with us, he who would hold a 
higher place, must obtain it from the general voice. 
He is dependant on suffrage as truly as the political 
aspirant. Hence, every circumstance affecting his 
position, is important to him. And the circumstance 
that most immediately and obviously affects it, is the 
company he keeps. On this point, therefore, he is 
likely to be extremely jealous. And this, I conceive, 
to be one reason, for the proverbial reserve of our 
national manners. 

I have thus far endeavored to unfold the danger on 
this point, to which I think that our situation exposes 
us. Let me now observe, that it is one of the most 
serious moral importance. There is an intimate con- 
nection between the manners and feelings of a people. 
A cold demeanor, though it may not prove coldness 
of heart, tends to produce it. The feelings that are 
locked up in reserve, are liable to wither and shrink, 
from simple disuse. He who stands in the attitude of 
perpetual resistance to the claims of others, is very 
apt to acquire a hardness and inhumanity towards 
them. He is liable to be cold, harsh and ungracious, 
both in feeling and deportment. He is in the very 



152 MORAL EXPOSURES 

school, not of generosity and love, but of selfishness and 
scorn and pride. And vainly might any Christian people 
boast of its intelligence, refinement or freedom, if it fail 
thus, of the essential virtues of the Christian religion. 

The domestic affections are peculiarly liable to suf- 
fer under the same influence. "A poor relation" — 
says an English writer, satirizing the manners of his 
countrymen — " is the most irrelevant thing in nature ; 
a piece of impertinent correspondency ; an odious ap- 
proximation ; a haunting conscience ; a preposterous 
shadow, lengthening in the noontide of your prosperi- 
ty ; an unwelcome remembrancer ; a perpetually re- 
curring mortification ; a drawback upon success ; a 
rebuke to your rising ; a mote in your eye ; a triumph 
to your enemy ; an apology to your friends."* Where, 
I was ready to say, but in England — but I will gener- 
alize the observation — where, but in countries that give 
birth and insecurity at once to individual aspirings, 
could such a satire have been framed ? Not among 
the wild Highlanders of Scotland ; not among the 
barbarous chieftains of our own native forests ; not, 
I think, with the same force at least, in Germany, in 
France, in Spain, or in Italy. I will not undertake to 
say how far the satire applies to our own people. But 
this I say, that we are very liable to deserve it. And 
I would warn my countrymen, could I speak to them, 
against this odious and barbarous treatment of their 
poor and depressed or uncourtly relatives, as against 
a sin worse than sacrilege and blasphemy ! 

Religion, too, is liable to lose much of its expansion, 
generosity and beauty, under the pressure of this na- 

* Elia, 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 158 

tional reserve. I have sometimes doubted, whether a 
religion so cold, inaccessible and repulsive, ever could 
have existed in any other country, as that which has 
prevailed in this. The manners of the country foster 
a peculiar reserve among us, an austerity, a sancti- 
moniousness, nowhere else to be found. The enthu- 
siasm of the country, checked in every other direction, 
is checked in this, no less. The same fervor, the same 
freedom of action, will not be borne in our pulpit, that 
is welcomed in most other countries. Ridicule — " the 
world's dread laugh" — is scarcely any where in the 
world so much feared as here ; and the reason is, that 
here, the world — eveiy body is judge. The preacher 
is begirt with a thousand critical eyes. He does not 
step forth from his lofty stall to his loftier pulpit, to 
address an ignorant multitude, as he might in Italy or 
Spain ; but he stands up to address those who are to 
judge him ; and not only to judge, but to award him 
life or death in his profession. 

But not to wander from the point I have in view ; 
I declare my conviction, that religion in this country, 
has a peculiar hardness and repulsiveness ; that it is 
not genial and gentle, gracious and tender, in the com- 
mon administration of it ; that it speaks, I do not say 
to heretics, but to the mass of the people, from the 
sealed up bosom of a more pitiless exclusion, than it 
does any where else in the world. The Church of 
Rome is, indeed, severe and exclusive towards here- 
tics ; but to its own people, it is ail graciousness and 
love, compared with the Puritan and Presbyterian, 
forms of administration. Individual exceptions, of 
course, are always to be allowed in representations 
of this general character ; but I hold that, in the main, 



154 MORAL EXPOSURES 

the Protestantism of other countries — the Church of 
England, for instance, and the Lutheranism of Ger- 
many — are more genial ; that they speak with a 
kinder tone to the people, than the Protestantism of 
America. And the consequence is, that multitudes 
among us, and especially of the young, are more 
repelled from religion, than the people of any other 
Christian nation. We are a very religious people, it 
is said, and it is true ; so it would appear to the eye 
of a stranger ; and the best foreign writer* who has 
visited us, has said, that he never saw a people so re- 
ligious ; and yet I fear, that many among us are very 
religious, who do not heartily love religion. But es- 
pecially with regard to the young in this country, I 
am inclined to think that their state is, in this respect, 
very singular. It is not the want of religious affec- 
tions and habits only ; this, though it is to be regret- 
ted in all countries, is not peculiar to the young any 
where. But it is a state of the sentiments here, of 
which I speak. It is a feeling of strange and almost 
preternatural superstition about religion ; a feeling, in 
the young, as if religion were shut up from them in 
seclusion and reserve ; a feeling as if they had nothing 
to do with it. Why is this ? Why, but because the 
clergy, in the first place, constitute a peculiar and re- 
served class — because they are guarded and sequester- 
ed from all the amusements of society, from almost all 
the scenes of cheerful, social enjoyment ; and because, 
in the next place, professors of religion mostly are shut 
up in the iron mask of peculiarity, and communicate 
with the world, in their religious capacity, as it were 

* De Tocqueville. 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 155 

only through the bars of an ugly and distorting visor. 
And these two classes are considered as the represen- 
tatives of all the religion of the country. How, then, 
can the young and unreflecting be expected to feel 
attracted to such a religion? Suppose that all the 
churches of a country were built in lonely places, like 
the shrine of Dodona ; were set far apart from all 
human habitation, and were to be approached only by 
taking a painful pilgrimage, away from all the cheerful 
haunts of life. This would be only a visible, though, 
as I admit, a strong representation of the isolated and 
reserved character which religion has assumed among 
us. Suppose that all the clergy should put on sack- 
cloth, and wear long, sad weeds, hanging from the 
head, the hands, the arms, and every part of their 
person, and should walk forth among the people with 
slow and melancholy steps, and an abstracted air; 
this, I say again, would be only a visible representa- 
tion of the ideas with which a people may clothe the 
ministers of religion. And how far does the fact differ 
from the representation, when the sight of a clergy- 
man at places of amusement, where every body else 
may go with perfect propriety, would be accounted a 
kind of sacrilege, a desecration of his office ! You 
may clothe a man with an intellectual costume, as re- 
pulsive as any visible costume. You may thus as 
truly make him a spectre and a bugbear to the young, 
as if you made him wear weeds and sackcloth. And 
if this man, the official representative of religion, is 
thus invested with a peculiarity, and forced into a 
solemn reserve, unknown in other countries — a re- 
serve, especially, from most of the cheerful resorts and 
recreations of society; if he is seldom seen where 



J 56 MORAL EXPOSURES 

men are gay and happy ; and if, when he is seen, his 
presence lays an irksome restraint upon the company 
he visits, how is it surprising, that our youth should 
feel that peculiar strangeness and alienation towards 
religion, of which I am speaking. Suppose that a 
father were to treat his children in this way ; could 
they love him ? I allow that in all these things a gra- 
dual improvement is showing itself. But he cannot 
have looked deeply into the spirit of society around 
him, who does not yet see much to lament. And how 
saddening is the reflection, that at the very time when 
religion is wanted to mould, to soften, to control and 
satisfy the bursting affections of the heart, when youth 
is beginning to feel its nature's great want, when it is 
swayed by alternate enthusiasm and disappointment, 
and has not yet stepped deep into vice and worldliness ; 
how lamentable that it should stand before the altar 
of religion, listening as to a cold, stern oracle from a 
heathen shrine, instead of hearing the words, Abba, 
Father ; instead of feeling that God is its Father, and 
the Saviour its friend, and every Christian minister its 
brother ! 

II. But I must proceed to speak briefly of another 
trait of the social character, to which the state of po- 
litical equality exposes us ; and that is discontent. To 
this I may add, the danger of imprudent and extrava- 
gant expenditures. 

But to speak distinctly of the feeling of discontent, 
in the first place ; it may be observed, that there is 
scarcely a limit among us, to any man's aspirings. 
And yet, it is no more possible that all should be first, 
in this country, than in any other. And the very cir- 
cumstance that these aspirings are universal and im- 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 157 

portunate, creates among us, as I have said, a peculiar 
reaction. This demand, on the one hand, and this re- 
sistance on the other, are likely, it is obvious, to give 
birth to an unusual and prevalent feeling of discontent. /* 

Doubtless, the feeling prevails sufficiently in other 
countries : and it may be thought, since one class only, 
and that a small one, is elevated by birth and rank 
above the rest, that the feeling may have as full scope 
among their inferior circles, as it has among ourselves. 
But the truth is, that the existence of this class in those 
countries, gives a tone to the whole body of society. 
The distinction of classes is not an offence with them, 
as it would be with us. People there more willingly 
consent to permanent inferiority. Men expect to live 
and die, in the condition of life in which they were 
born, and in the calling to which they have been 
brought up. The case with us, is widely different ; 
and the exposure to discontent is proportionably in- 
creased. 

To exhibit the various forms which this trait as- 
sumes, would require the liberty of dramatic or ficti- 
tious writing. In the necessarily sober and didactic 
discussions of the pulpit, I can scarcely do more than 
refer you, for its existence, to your own consciousness 
or observation. I say, your observation ; and yet, this 
is a feeling that so sedulously shrinks from notice, that 
you can hardly gain from that source, any just idea of 
its prevalence and depth. Could I get an honest con- 
fession written out from the hearts of many around us, 
I have no doubt, that it would reveal an extent and 
poignancy of suffering from this cause, of which you 
may be little aware. For this conviction, I need only 
to be acquainted with the principles of human nature, 
14 



158 MORAL EXPOSURES 

I only need to know, that all men are made to desire 
the approbation and attention of one another; and 
then to know, that here are circumstances unusually 
fitted to afford expansion at once, and dissappointment 
to this desire, in order to feel myself justified in mak- 
ing a very strong representation. Indeed, the indirect 
proofs of it, under the circumstances, are, perhaps, 
the clearest. As an author, by showing an apparent 
indifference to the success of his writings, commonly 
betrays, by that very manner, the keenest interest 
about it ; so do I think that the coldness and hauteur 
of many persons towards their neighbors, leads to the 
same inference. They never speak of them, perhaps, 
for the very reason that they are always thinking about 
them ; or they speak with guarded indifference, be- 
cause they have something within them to guard. But 
not to rest on indirect disclosures ; you must know 
that many of the dissensions, shall I say quarrels, of 
families, and many of the manifest jealousies and 
heart-burnings of society, arise from mortified pride. 
A man feels that he is not known to society as he ought 
to be, that he has not the acquaintances to which he 
is entitled ; the fashionable reject him ; or if he has 
gained that first-rate object, as it is usually considered, 
then there is a literary circle to which he does not be- 
long ; some exclusive circle there is, of some kind, to 
which he is not admitted ; and he broods over it j he 
feels it ; he thinks of it with ill-suppressed anger and 
vexation. He has got property or talent, perhaps, but 
he cannot get that for which, as one inducement/ he 
sought property or distinction. In some minds, this is 
an honorable feeling, a just and reasonable desire 
for the acquaintance of congenial minds. But it 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 159 

is too apt to sink into the baser feeling of chagrin and 
spite. 

It is not to be forgotten, in this connection, that so- 
ciety does great wrong to many, and great injury to 
itself, by the neglect of merit. By a superficial esti- 
mate of the claims to notice, by bestowing its chief at- 
tention upon wealth, beauty, and the eclat of talent, 
rather than upon talent itself, and by setting up a stan- 
dard of expense in its. entertainments, which makes a 
considerable property a necessary passport to its ad- 
vantages, society cuts off a great deal of worth, intelli- 
gence and refinement, with which it can very ill afford 
to part. The simple entertainments, the intellectual 
soirees of the cultivated cities of Europe, open a door 
to merit, that is nearly closed among us. It is the 
true policy of society to collect and concentrate, as 
much as possible, the scattered rays of mental illumi- 
nation. But if, instead of this, it goes about, virtually 
putting an extinguisher upon all the lights that are 
burning in silence and obscurity, instead of bringing 
them into notice, the loss is its own ; and it is an irre- 
parable loss. Mind is the only thing which it cannot 
afford to lose. Let the fashion of the country look to 
it, that it does not become degraded before the eyes of 
all the world, by this illiberal exclusion. Show me a 
society where wealth, dress and equipage, are the chief 
titles to advancement ; from which the great body of 
the educated, reading and thinking men of the country 
are excluded, or choose to exclude themselves ; and I 
shall not hesitate to say, that you show me a frivolous 
and vulgar society. Depend upon it, the conversa- 
tion will become mean and insipid ; and the manners 
will want the last graces of manner, ease and simpli- 



160 MORAL EXPOSURES 

city. Intellect, cultivated and spiritualized intellect, is 
the only true refiner. 

But I spoke, also, as connected with the worldly 
pride and discontent of society, of the temptations to 
imprudent and extravagant expense. In a state of 
society like ours, does not every one see, that these 
temptations are carried to the utmost length ; that no 
condition of things on earth can, in this respect, more 
endanger the prudence and virtue of men ? In regard 
to their expenses, men are apt to govern themselves, 
by the consideration of what is proper to their condi- 
tion, rank or class in society. It is often a decisive 
argument for the purchase of a certain article of fur- 
niture or apparel, or for offering entertainments in a 
certain style, that others are doing the same thing. 
But what others ? This question unfolds the peculiar 
temptation that besets us. Families, in this country, 
scarcely Jiave any fixed and ascertained condition or 
rank. They are separated from each other, not by 
visible lines, but by imperceptible shades of distinc- 
tion. In following others, they do not readily see 
where to stop. All, at the same time, are aspiring to 
a higher condition. And in the absence of hereditary 
distinctions. the style of living is too apt to be consid- 
ered as the grand, visible index of that condition. The 
coat of arms is nothing ; and it is the coat that a man 
wears, that must mark him out. The hatchment has 
passed away from our house-fronts ; those houses 
themselves, then, must set forth our respectability. In 
houses, therefore, in apparel, and in every species of 
expense, we are liable to go too far ; to cross, one 
after another, the shadowy intervals that separate us 
.from those who are above us in their means, and to 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 161 

be urged on to inconvenient and ruinous expendi- 
tures. 

I think I have properly connected this topic, extrav- 
agance, with what I have said 'of the discontent of 
society. An irritated sense of inferiority, a diseased 
ambition, at once blinds and goads a man into the 
snares of rash expense and ruinous debt. It is often 
a word of discontent pronounced in a domestic con- 
sultation, that decides the question ; and carries a man 
to do what he feels to be unnecessary, and knows" to 
be imprudent. He knows that it is rather beyond his 
means ; but he hopes that his business will be pros- 
perous, that his speculations will be fortunate ; and he 
has, at least, the satisfaction of gratifying those who 
are dearest to him. His daughter shall have such and 
such decorations, his wife, a certain equipage ; others 
have them, and " they must" If those others w T ere 
any body in particular ; and if any body had a limit, 
the case would be better. But those others are every 
body in their sphere, that is a little beyond them. Thus 
a man enters upon the hazardous "experiment of liv- 
ing beyond the means" — of living upon resources that 
are not yet realized. For a while, the business of the 
country may be so prosperous as to bear him through 
all. But the times are likely to change ; and the specula- 
tions that were to relieve, may become obligations 
that bind and fetter him. Or, if not, yet the domestic 
ambition which, restrained by no definite rule, is for 
ever saying, "give, give," is likely to bring about the 
same result. The man is in debt.. He is obliged to 
look in the face, people, and perhaps poor people, 
whom he cannot pay. It is a situation, infinitely irri- 
tating and mortifying. We are a people, I know, ta 
14* 



162 MORAL EXPOSURES 

a proverb, reckless of debt ; reckless, at least, about 
plunging into it ^ but no man can be in it, and find the 
situation an easy one. No man can, without passing, 
I had almost said, through worse than purgatorial tor- 
ments, become callous to the demand for payment. It 
turns the whole of life into a scene of misery and 
mortification — makes its whole business and action a 
series of sacrifices and shifts and subterfuges. Home 
itself, the last refuge of virtue and peace — the very 
home, that has lost its independence in its splendor — 
that is not protected from the intrusive step and con- 
temptuous tone of the unsatisfied creditor, has lost its 
charm. It is no longer a sanctuary ; and it is but too 
likely to be forsaken for other resorts. Many a man, 
not only in the city but in the country, has gone down 
in character and self-respect, in virtue and hope, under 
the accumulated weight of these overwhelming em- 
barrassments. 

Now I maintain, that, in such a country as this, spe- 
cial guards are to be set up against discontent and 
extravagance. With regard to the last, let every man 
be resolute ; let him firmly set his limit, and resolve 
to live far within the means. It is the only way to be 
happy in his condition, and, in fact, it is the only 
way to be honest. With regard to the first of these 
exposures, it is less easy to lay down any definite rule. 
We all desire the esteem of society ; and its notice is 
the only visible mark of its esteem. Yet, let a man 
beware how he barters away for it the peace of his 
mind. Let him live at home, in his own bosom ; and 
not abroad, in the thoughts of others. His mind must 
thus travel abroad sometimes, no doubt. ; but let it 
live at home. Let it find content in self-culture, in 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 163 

the few fast and strong friendships, and, above all, in 
the resources of religion. Never, and nowhere, per- 
haps, has the strong sentiment of religion been so ne- 
cessary, in any age and in any country, as it is in this 
age, and in this country. 

III. But I must hasten to notice, in the last place, 
another exposure of the national character, and that 
is, to pusillanimity. 

You will think, perhaps, as I offer this further con- 
sideration, and in such undisguised language, that I am 
the accuser of my country, rather than its defender. 
My answer is, as before, that I have such a calm and 
strong conviction of its merits and advantages, that I 
can afford to speak plainly of its dangers and faults. 
The irritable sensitiveness to blame among us, I hold, 
is not the true self-respect. And more than this ; the 
errors to which we are exposed, must be fairly can- 
vassed, frankly admitted, and fully corrected, that we 
may be justly entitled to our own respect, or that of 
other nations. 

And now, I desire you to look at the exposure in 
question, and see if it is not peculiar ; and so power- 
ful, too, that a complete and immediate escape from 
it, would, in fact, have proved us more than human^ 
Every man in this country is dependant for his position 
upon public opinion. There is no exception. But in 
most other countries, there are many exceptions. In 
the first place, there is the class of nobles who hold 
their place by birth. In the next place, the clergy 
generally are presented to their livings, and are not 
dependant on the popular voice. Then there are a 
multitude of minor situations and offices, for which their 
incumbents are indebted, not to election, but to ap« 



164 MORAL EXPOSURES 

pointment. Even wealth, I think, holds a more inde- 
pendent position abroad, than it does with us. This 
may be thought a surprising opinion ; because it is con- 
stantly said, that where hereditary distinctions do not 
exist, wealth is apt to take their place, and to be more 
eagerly sought. It may be more eagerly sought ; and 
yet, it may have a less independent power when it is 
gained. Abroad, wealth shines by the reflected light 
of an opulent aristocracy. The possession of it is 
thus associated with the highest titles to respect and 
deference. And it is able, as an undoubted matter of 
fact, to command a deference and observance, which 
it never receives with us. It can speak to its depen- 
dants and agents there, as it does not here ; and as, I 
trust, it never will. One of the most painful aspects 
of society abroad, is the cringing and fawning of so 
many worthy and intelligent men, at the feet of rank 
and opulence. 

But we, in this country, have our own dangers. 
And the greatest of all dangers here, as I conceive, 
is that of general pusillanimity, of moral cowardice > 
of losing a proper and manly independence of char- 
acter. I think that I see something of this in our very 
manners, in the hesitation, the indirectness, the cau- 
tious and circuitous modes of speech, the eye asking 
assent before the tongue can finish its sentence. I 
think that in other countries, you oftener meet with 
men, who stand manfully and boldly up, and deliver 
their opinion without asking or caring what you or oth- 
ers think about it. It may, sometimes, be rough and 
harsh ; but, at any rate, it is independent. Observe, 
too, in how many relations, political, religious and so- 
cial, a man is liable to find bondage instead of free^ 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 105 

dom. If he wants office, he must attach himself to 
a party, and then his eyes must be sealed in blind- 
ness, and his lips in silence, towards all the faults of 
his party. He may have his eyes open, and he may 
see much to condemn, but he must say nothing. If 
he edits a newspaper, his choice is often between bon- 
dage and beggary. That may actually be the choice, 
though he does not know it. He may be so com- 
plete a slave, that he does not feel the chain. His 
passions may be so enlisted in the cause of his party, 
as to blind his discrimination, and destroy all com- 
prehension and capability of independence. So it 
may be with the religious partisan. He knows, per- 
haps, that there are errors in his adopted creed, faults 
in his sect, fanaticism and extravagance in some of its 
measures. See if you get him to speak of them. See 
if you can get him to breathe a whisper of doubt. 
No, he is always believing. He has a convenient 
phrase that covers up all difficulties in his creed. He 
believes it " for substance of doctrine." Or if he is 
a layman, perhaps he does not believe it at all. 
What, then, is his conclusion ? Why, he has friends 
who s do believe it; and he does not wish to offend 
them. And so he goes on, listening to what he does 
not believe ; outwardly acquiescing, inwardly remon- 
strating ; the slave of fear or fashion, never daring, 
not once in his life daring, to speak out and openly the 
thought that is in him. Nay, he sees men suffering 
under the weight of public reprobation, for the open 
espousal of the very opinions he holds, and he has nev- 
er the generosity or manliness to say, " J think so too.*' 
Nay, more ; by the course he pursues, he is made to 
cast his stone, or he holds it in his hand, at least, and 



166 MORAL EXPOSURES 

lets another arm apply the force necessary to cast it, 
at the very men, who are suffering a sort of martyr- 
dom for his own faith ! 

I am not now advocating any particular opinions. 
I am only advocating a manly freedom in the expres- 
sion of those opinions, which a man does entertain. 
And if those opinions are unpopular, I hold that, in 
this country, there is so much the more need of an 
open and independent expression of them. Look at 
the case most seriously, I beseech you. "What is ever 
to correct the faults of society, if nobody lifts his voice 
against them ; if every body goes on openly doing 
what every body privately complains of ; if all shrink 
behind the faint-hearted apology, that it would be 
over-bold in them to attempt any reform ? What is 
to rebuke political time-serving, religious fanaticism, 
or social folly, if no one has the independence to pro- 
test against them ? Look at it in a larger view. What 
barrier is there against the universal despotism of pub- 
lic opinion in this country, but individual freedom ? 
Who is to stand up against it here, but the possessor 
of that lofty independence? There is no king, no 
sultan, no noble, no privileged class ; nobody else, to 
stand against it. If you yield this point, if you are for 
ever making compromises, if all men do this, if the 
entire policy of private life here, is to escape oppo- 
sition and reproach, every thing will be swept beneath 
the popular wave. There will be no individuality, no 
hardihood, no high and stern resolve, no self-subsist- 
ence, no fearless dignity, no glorious manhood of mind, 
left among us. The holy heritage of our fathers' vir- 
tues will be trodden under foot, by their unworthy 
children. They feared not to stand up against kings 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY. 167 

and nobles, and parliament and people. Better did 
they account it, that their lonely bark should sweep 
the wide sea in freedom — happier were they, when 
their sail swelled to the storm of winter, than to be 
slaves in palaces of ease. Sweeter to their ear was 
the music of the gale, that shrieked in their broken 
cordage, than the voice at home that said, " submit, 
and you shall have rest." And when they reached 
this wild shore, and built their altar, and knelt upon 
the frozen snow and the flinty rock to worship, they 
built that altar to freedom, to individual freedom, to 
freedom of conscience and opinion ; and their noble 
prayer was, that their children might be thus free. 
Let their sons remember the prayer of their extremity, 
and the great bequest which their magnanimity has 
left us. Let them beware how they become entan- 
gled again in the yoke of bondage. Let the ministers 
at God's altar, let the guardians of the press, let all 
sober and thinking men, speak the thought that is in 
them. It is better to speak honest error, than to sup- 
press conscious truth. Smothered error is more dan- 
gerous than that which flames and burns out. But 
do I speak of danger ? I know of but one thing safe 
in the universe, and that is truth. And I know of but 
one way to truth for an individual mind, and that is, 
unfettered thought. And I know but one path for the 
multitude to truth, and that is, thought, freely ex- 
pressed. Make of truth itself an altar of slavery, and 
guard it about with a mysterious shrine ; bind thought 
as a victim upon it ; and let the passions of the preju- 
diced multitude minister fuel ; and you sacrifice upon 
that accursed altar, the hopes of the world ! 

Why is it, in fact, that the tone of morality in the 



168 MORAL EXPOSURES. 

high places of society, is so lax and complaisant, but 
for want of the independent and indignant rebuke of 
society 1 There is reproach enough poured upon the 
drunkenness, debauchery and dishonesty of the poor 
man. The good people who go to him can speak 
plainly — ay, very plainly, of his evil ways. Why is 
it, then, that fashionable vice is able to hold up its 
head, and sometimes to occupy the front ranks of so- 
ciety ? It is because respectable persons, of hesitating 
and compromising virtue, keep it in countenance. It 
is because timid woman stretches out her hand to the 
man whom she knows to be the deadliest enemy of 
morality and of her sex, while she turns a cold eye 
upon the victims he has ruined. It is because there 
is nobody to speak plainly in cases like these. * And 
do you think that society is ever to be regenerated 
or purified under the influence of these unjust and 
pusillanimous compromises? I tell you never. So 
long as vice is suffered to be fashionable and respect- 
able — so long as men are bold to condemn it only 
when it is clothed in rags, there will never be any 
radical improvement. You may multiply Temperance 
Societies, and Moral Reform Societies ; you may pile 
up statute books of laws against gambling and dis- 
honesty ; but so long as the timid homages of the fair 
and honored are paid to splendid iniquity, it will be 
all in vain. So long will it be felt, that the voice of 
the world is not against the sinner, but against the 
sinner's garb. And so long, every weapon of associa- 
tion, and every batoon of office, will be but a missile 
feather against the Leviathan, that is wallowing in the 
low marshes and stagnant pools of society. 

Would that the world were changed, we say ; but 



OF AMERICAN SOCIETY, 169 

how is it to be changed ? Would that the evils and 
vices of society were done away ; but how are they 
to be done away ? Whence is the power to come ? 
I answer. One fearless voice — that of Luther — broke 
up the spiritual despotism of centuries. One fearless 
voice in England — that of Hampden — shook the 
throne of corruption to its base. Any one human arm, 
lifted up in indignant rebuke, is clothed by the power 
of God, with all-conquering might. The popular 
mind ever wants leaders. The people want that some 
one should interpret the voice that is in them — should 
speak the commanding word that marshals the hosts 
of society to the work of reform. If there shall be 
no such voices in this country, no lofty seers, no stern 
prophets — if all shall basely seek to lose themselves in 
the multitude ; then shall the sluggish wave of mean 
mediocrity and slavish acquiescence roll over the land, 
giving birth to broods of serpents and reptiles, and it 
shall only fatten the soil for some other and future em- 
pire, of more generous freedom and more magnani- 
mous virtue. So sunk the glorious land of Grecian 
liberty, when nothing but cowering flattery would suit 
the people ; temples and statues and thrones went 
down, bemired and trodden under the feet of its 
u fierce" and flattered "democracies ;" and the vision of 
Plato's republic lingers only as a bright dream upon its 
beautiful shores. If that vision or any part of it is ev- 
er to be realized here, there must be a genial confi- 
dence and warmth breathed into the soul of the peo- 
ple ; there must be a noble simplicity and self-respect 
free from all base discontents ; and there must be a 
lofty magnanimity free from all time-serving and slav- 
ish fear. 

15 



170 



DISCOURSE VII 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 



GALATIANS V. 1. And be not entangled again with 

THE YOKE OF BONDAGE. 

In the close of my last discourse, I considered the 
tendency of a controlling public opinion to abridge 
private and personal independence. The subject ap- 
pears to me of such importance, that I am induced to 
resume the discussion of it. The general effect of 
public opinion, otherwise sufficiently great, is increas- 
ed, I believe, to an unsuspected extent, by the princi- 
ple of association : and it is this, which I wish particu- 
larly to consider in the present discourse. 

I have lately ventured to say that the great danger 
to our national character is, that. of wanting personal, 
individual independence — independence of mind ; and 
I have once,- in another form of communication to the 
public, expressed the opinion, that "there is less pri- 
vate and social freedom in America, than there is in 
Europe." 

A striking confirmation of these views I have lately 
met with, in the intelligent French traveller, de Tocque- 
ville ; a man remarkably qualified by previous study, 
by singular candor, and by a thorough investigation of 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 171 

the subject, to write on this country. " I am not ac- 
quainted," he says, " with any country, in which there 
is so little true independence of mind, and so little Free- 
dom of discussion, as in America. The authority of a 
king," he continues, "is purely physical; it controls 
the actions of the subject without subduing his private 
will ; but the majority in America is invested with a 
power, which is physical and moral at the same time ; 
it acts upon the will, as well as upon the actions of 
men, and represses not only all contest, but all contro- 
versy." 

Though the result is too strongly expressed, espe- 
cially in the last clause of this passage, yet the ten- 
dency is unquestionable ; and it being so, I hold that 
public opinion is more than sufficiently strong, without 
any artificial aids or arrangements to give it greater 
power. That the majority shall rule, is the chosen 
and comprehensive principle that iies at the founda- 
tion of our political institutions. Under such an ad- 
ministration of things, there is no reason to fear that 
public opinion will be too weak ; that majorities will 
be too timid and scrupulous. On the contrary, the 
danger is, that individuals will lose all courage and 
independence ; that all individual opinion will be 
merged in prevailing opinion ; that intellect and vir- 
tue together will sink to an all-levelling tameness and 
mediocrity. The danger, I repeat, however little it 
may have been anticipated or suspected, is, that the 
very principle of our freedom — the rule of majorities 
— will " entangle us again with the yoke of bondage." 
In such circumstances I insist, that all artificial aids 
and arrangements which give force to public opinion, 
are to be looked upon with jealousy, and that their 



172 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 

efforts are to be guarded against, on the part of indi- 
viduals, with strenuous resistance. And by artificial 
arrangements, I mean all those parties, sects and asso- 
ciations, whose tendency it is to invade or abridge 
personal freedom. 

But it is necessary, before I proceed farther, to say 
something definitely of the principle of association ; to 
say, in other words, how far and for what reasons it 
is to be resisted or restrained. 

That principle has had, in this country, a most ex- 
traordinary development. It is the very country of 
parties, sects and societies. But to consider the latter 
particularly, as being most remarkable ; it would 
seem as if nothing could be done in this country but 
by societies ; and wo to the man, claiming any place 
among the good men of the country, who thinks to 
escape them ! Wo to him who thought to stand 
apart and aloof, and to go to his grave, quietly and 
alone ! Some society will be certain to find and fer- 
ret him out, and bring him into the great trained bands 
of benevolence, that are spreading themselves over the 
country. 

It would be curious, if not useful, to inquire into the 
causes of this singular social movement of the country. 
It arises in part, doubtless, from the popular character 
of our institutions. It has been the fashion abroad, for 
governments to do every thing for the people. It is 
the tendency of our political forms to make the people 
do every thing for themselves. Besides, the pervading 
intellectual activity of this country, leads the people to 
take an interest in every thing that is going forward, 
which is not found to an equal extent, in any other. 
This interest, perhaps, naturally expresses itself in as- 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 173 

sociations ; since associated action is obviously more 
powerful than any other mode of operation. But I 
am inclined to think, that the very trait of national 
character, on which I have lately commented, has had 
something to do with the multiplicity of our associa- 
tions. They enable the individual to shrink from re- 
sponsibility, and to lose himself in the crowd. They 
are convenient intrenehments to shelter the timid and 
faint-hearted. If a man wishes to advocate or ad- 
vance an unpopular measure, and has not moral 
strength enough to stand alone, a society offers to him 
the very resource he wants ; then there is a body of 
associates to lean upon, and to divide with him the 
risk and opprobrium. 

And yet I do not deny that societies have their use ; 
and I am inclined to say, that it is in this very emer- 
gency that they have their use and scope. An un- 
popular opinion or doctrine may well gather its friends 
about it, if it has any. An aggrieved minority may 
well associate for its own defence. It is the very 
policy of our social condition to give to remonstrance, 
strength. But the same policy requires that the prin- 
ciple of association should be limited by that consider- 
ation. If this were a proper subject for legislation, 
and the power of enacting such a rule were given me, 
I would cause every association, whose object it is to 
operate upon public opinion, to die the moment it 
reached the point of predominant influence ; success 
should dissolve it. Public opinion wants no such aid 
to make it strong. It is too strong already. 

But we must further distinguish. There are socie- 
ties whose main purpose is to produce an effect upon 
public opinion. Such were the anti-masonic, and are 
15* 



v. 



174 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 

now, the temperance and abolition societies ; and such 
are all political associations and parties. Upon all 
such combinations, I should look with jealousy. In 
this remark, I do not intend to pronounce any judgment 
upon their particular objects. I might approve of them, 
but I should be on that account none the less jealous 
of their tendency, when successful, to narrow and en- 
slave the minds of individuals. Then, again, there are 
other associations, whose object is charity, or to do 
some good work ; such as bible, tract, missionary and 
relief societies of various sorts. With regard to these, 
it appears to me, that a different judgment is to be en- 
tertained. Their object being simply charitable, is so 
far unexceptionable, let it be carried as far as it will. 
But this I should say, that while their success is no 
ground for apprehension, while their success, to almost 
any assignable extent is to be desired, their coercive 
influence upon individual minds is no less to be guarded 
against. 

In fine, I do not say that societies, as societies, are 
to be opposed. Were it even desirable, it is certainly 
impossible in this country at least, by any such weak 
means or arguments, to check or discourage the spirit 
of association. It is in the very air about us, ready to 
come at every call, and to take some new form every 
day ; and no power, at our command, can exorcise it. 
This is all, then, that I say, and this is the ground I 
take ; that all societies ought to beware how they un- 
duly press their influence upon individual minds, and 
that every individual is to be exhorted to guard his 
freedom against them : to be exhorted, not, indeed, to 
withhold his countenance and aid, but to limit them 
exactly to his independent convictions. He is to be 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 175 

warned, I say, not against liberality, but against bon- 
dage, and societies are to be warned against imposing it. 

Some of the cases in which this injury is both done 
and suffered, it shall now be my business to point out ; 
and then I shall proceed to consider their general in- 
fluence upon the intellect and virtue of society. 

Thus with regard to the cases — when a political 
party says to its members, " You shall support every 
thing, and oppose nothing, that is done among us, or 
else, expect no favor or office at our hands," what is 
this but an enactment in a code of slavery ? And 
what can its legitimate effect be, but to make slaves ? 
Doubtless, a man may honestly and honorably attach 
himself to some particular doctrine in politics ; and on 
that basis, a party may be formed ; and if the party 
confined itself to the support of that or similar, or as- 
sociated doctrines, or of any doctrines in fact, all might 
be well. There would not necessarily be any bon- 
dage in such an adherence to party. But the evil is, 
that the little circle of individual and independent opin- 
ions, which at first was calmly gathering and slow T ly 
revolving about its proper centre, soon increases to a 
whirlwind, and raises a cloud of dust, and takes up 
straws and rubbish in its course, and sweeps every 
thing in its train. A man finds himself, ere long, mix- 
ed up with the agitated and irregular action of many 
things altogether irrelevant to the original questions. 
If it were only a certain measure or set of measures, 
that he was pledged to support, he might be free, 
Therein he might act upon his own independent opinion. 
But he soon finds that other questions and interests are 
thrust into the case ; that he must help to compass 
party ends ; and hardest of all, that he must support 



176 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 

party leaders. Folly must become wisdom to him, if 
it is found in the party idol ; every political vice, a 
virtue ; incapacity, honest, homely sense, unpractised 
in the tricks of office ; intrigue, prudence ; sycophan- 
cy to the multitude, the love of the people ; the most 
tortuous policy, straight-forward integrity. Let it not 
be thought that I overdraw the picture. If any man 
will think to be independent of these considerations, 
let him try it. Let him dare to say, what, if he has 
any sense or candor, it is probable that he honestly 
thinks ; let him say, that although he approves the 
general object of his party, there are some of its meas- 
ures that he cannot approve, and some of its men, that 
he will not support. Let him do this ; and he will 
find that the batteries of an hundred presses are im- 
mediately opened upon him. He is denounced as a 
false friend, a spy in the camp ; he could hardly be a 
worse man, if he meditated treason to his party, or to 
his country ; and the end of this experiment on party 
toleration is, that he is flung off, and left to struggle 
alone, in the wake of the great ship, that has borne 
his friends to their haven. 

With regard to those great associations, denomina- 
ted religious sects, I fear that the case involves no less 
peril to the mental independence of our people. I 
allow, that the multiplicity of sects in this country, is 
some bond for their mutual forbearance and freedom. 
But the strength and repose of a great establishment 
are, in some respects, more favorable to private lib- 
erty. If less favor is shown to those without, there is 
usually more liberality to those within it. It is in the 
protected soil of great establishments, that the germs 
of every great reform in the church have quietly taken 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 177 

root. For myself, if I were ever to permit my liberty 
to be compromised by such considerations, I would 
rather take my chance in the bosom of a great na- 
tional religion, than amidst the jealous eyes of small 
and contending sects. And I think it will be found v 
that a more liberal and catholic theology has always 
pervaded establishments, than the bodies of dissenters 
from them. Nay, I much doubt, whether intolerance 
itself, in such countries — in England and Germany, 
for instance — has ever gone to that length of Jewish 
and Samaritan exclusion, that has sometimes been wit- 
nessed among us. 

In saying this, I am not the enemy of dissent. Nor 
do I deny that it is often the offspring of freedom. It 
certainly is the usual condition of progress. But this 
I say ; that dissent sometimes binds stronger chains 
than it broke. And this is especially apt to be the 
case, for a time, when several, rival and contending 
sects spring from the general freedom. Then the 
parent-principle is often devoured by its own chil- 
dren. 

But there are other associations to be noticed in 
this connection. The great benevolent societies of the 
day, however much good they may propose, and may 
actually do, are liable to do this evil — to give, that is 
to say, a form to public opinion, which shall make it 
press too hard upon individual freedom. 

This may be less felt in cities. Individuals there, 
are lost in the crowd, and possess a certain freedom 
in their comparative insignificance. The many and 
conflicting claims to public attention in cities, also, 
make each particular claim to be less distinct and im- 
posing. And the heterogeneous mass of mind collected 



178 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 

in them, enables every dissentient or opposing opinion, 
to draw forth strength and courage for its support. 
Hence, I believe it will be found, that all great re- 
forms, political, religious or social, have commenced 
in cities. Hence it is, that cities have ever been the 
strongholds of freedom ; and if I should add, its cor- 
rupters also, I should only point out an extension of 
the same principle-, that is, freedom becomes licentious- 
ness. And thus it is, at this moment, in our American 
cities, that we have at once, more freedom of mind 
and more licentiousness of opinion, than there is in 
the country. Still, amidst all this, there is, no doubt, 
enough and too much of bondage among us* 

But if you would know how great associations may 
invade the freedom of individuals, go with one of their 
agents to some retired village or township in the coun- 
try. His object is to form a Missionary, Tract, or 
Temperance Society. He first approaches the clergy- 
man, and finds him, perhaps, a convert already to the 
project. But if not, he is but too likely to find in him 
an instance of timid and pitiable vacillation ; a person 
unwilling to express that decided opinion, or that de- 
cided doubt about the plan, that becomes his place. 
Next, the agent, with or without the support of the 
pastor, applies himself to the church and the people. 
And here, of course, there will be a certain amount 
of objection. There will be those who think that they 
cannot afford the money required, or who prefer some 
other plan, or who dislike pledges. How are these 
feelings of objection treated ? Does the applicant for 
aid respect them? Is he anxious that every man 
should act freely, upon his own individual and un- 
biassed conviction ? Does he remember, that " God 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 179 

loveth a cheerful giver," and no other ? How much 
more likely is he to bring the whole weight of public 
opinion to bear upon the case ; to content himself, if 
he can wring forth reluctant assent ! His own repu- 
tation is, in a measure, involved. A society of ten or 
twenty will not satisfy him. It is very likely that 
these are the only numbers, which, on any new propo- 
sition, would justly express the state of the public 
mind ; but these will not content him. He wants an 
hundred members. He would fain press men into the 
cause. Even if this were not the case, if he were ever 
so scrupulous about the motives he employed, yet the 
bare fact, that he comes backed by me example of a 
thousand villages, of almost the entire country in 
fact, will be likely to leave little enough freedom 
among the people he addresses. Shall they stand up 
against the whole world ? Shall all be darkness and 
death among them, while all is life and brightness 
around them ? What a sad report to go forth among 
the churches, that no Missionary Society, no Tract 
Society, no Temperance Society, could be formed 
there ? What will people think of that congregation, 
or of its pastor? What can they think, but that they 
are all sunk in spiritual death, or else are opposed to 
all truth and righteousness ? This will not do. There 
must be a society. They cannot go on without one. 
I am not denying, of course, that better feelings have 
their share in the result ; but I wish to show you, how 
liable these bad, unworthy and slavish feelings are to 
have place in it. 

But I need not confine myself, in this survey, to any 
locality. Every one must be aware that, with regard 
to several of the great moral enterprises of the day, 



180 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 

there is, in this country, a considerable mass of dis- 
sent. Take, for instance, the Temperance Reform. I 
have no doubt, that I might express the opinion of a 
multitude of sober and reflecting men in the country, 
in terms like these ; "that there was, indeed, great and 
crying need of this reform ; that the evil was one of 
tremendous magnitude ; that it was meet, the whole 
country should be aroused to its danger; that a 
pledge of abstinence might have been advisable as a 
temporary expedient, to give form and force to that 
strong protest, which was rising in the public mind ; 
but that the pledge, as it has actually been framed, is 
based upon a false principle ; that what the temper- 
ance reformers say, when they assert, that it is a sin 
per se to take any substance or liquid in which alco- 
hol is mingled, is not true ; that it is altogether an un- 
warrantable and mischievous refining upon the case, 
so to state the doctrine of temperance ; that there is 
alcohol in every thing, as there is an exciting quality 
in every thing, even in the simplest food ; that gluttony 
is as bad as intemperance, though not so common, 
but that it does not follow that men should not eat ; 
that the proscription of wine, and the sacrilegious and 
most gratuitous disputes about the use of that ele- 
ment in the Lord's supper, are really as legitimate as 
they are hurtful inferences from a false principle— be- 
cause, if alcohol may not be drank, then wine may not 
be drank, and if it is a sin to drink wine, then it ought 
not to be used in the Communion ; and, finally, that 
no good is ultimately to be expected, but only a sad 
reaction from the propagation of any error. Warn 
the public mind," they would say, " alarm it as much 
as possible ; but do this by legitimate considerations ; 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 181 

none other are needed, and none other can do any 
eventual good." There are many, I say, who entertain 
these views ; but where, I had almost said, is the speech, 
sermon or newspaper, that has ever given one single 
solitary expression to them ? And the consequence 
has been, that the Temperance Reform has gone on 
without that open and frank opposition to keep it ju- 
dicious and right, which is necessary to all human ac- 
tion, to every government, to every mind in fact, and 
therefore, especially, to every heterogeneous and irre- 
sponsible association. 

Every great association, if it were wise, would wel- 
come an honest, intellectual, argumentative opposition. 
This is precisely what it wants to preserve it from 
that extavagance, to which the fervor and confidence 
of united action are ever apt to lead. But the evil is, 
that every such association, in proportion as it grows 
strong, silences remonstrance. It is not here as in 
politics, where interest insures an opposition. Men 
feel no immediate interest in resisting any enterprise 
of a moral nature ; and therefore, they are apt to 
content themselves with expressing their objections in 
private, and they leave the multitude to rush on with- 
out control. But I predict that the day will come, 
when reflecting men will find, if they would preserve 
any personal influence or independence, that they have 
a duty to perform, widely at variance with their present 
supine indifference or shrinking timidity. Nay, to 
some, has not the time already come ? Have you nev- 
er known a man in the country, of somewhat conspic- 
uous standing, of unexceptionable morals and many 
virtues, but who gave nothing to missionary societies, 
nothing to tract societies, nothing to education socie- 

16 



182 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 

ties, and who would sign no pledges to temperance 
associations, or to associations for promoting the ob- 
servance of the Sabbath ? What is the position of 
that man in his neighborhood ? Why, he is " a great 
opposer :" — brief, but significant and comprehensive 
phrase, which none but they who have observed its 
effect, can understand. It draws a mysterious circle 
around its object ; the very children of the neighbor- 
hood come to regard him as a strange and bad man — 
they know not why ; he is cut off from the sympathies 
of the world around him ; kept aloof, (and well if he 
is not made a misanthrope) — mentioned to strangers 
with disparagement ; prayed for in meetings ; and 
sent to his grave, unblessed, lonely, and perhaps, sad 
at heart. His very family, it may be, and especially, 
the female members of it, who are more susceptible to 
the influence of public opinion, are brought over to the 
side of distrust and suspicion. Stand up for him, fair 
ministers at the altar of domestic love, and sacrifice 
him not on that altar ! I am not now saying, that the 
principles he has adopted with regard to societies is 
right ; but this I do say, that for public sentiment to 
visit upon him such calamities for his dissent, is an in- 
sufferable presumption, and ought to bring the power 
of associations under the most jealous watch of a free 
people. 

But there are other dangers, besides that of produ- 
cing individual suffering and bondage, which should 
lead us carefully to guard against the uncontrolled in- 
fluence and tendency of associations. 

And here I must desire you to observe, that it is 
not against associations as such, that I am directing 
these observations, nor against them altogether. It is 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 183 

with no hostility to societies, that I am pointing out 
some of their incidental effects upon the public mind. 
The best things are liable, by abuse, or by an over- 
sight of their injurious tendencies, to become the 
worst ; and this because they are the best ; because 
they win unbounded confidence. Moral associations 
are such good things— they are so humane and benev- 
olent, they engage such pious and excellent people in 
their measures, that it is scarcely possible to think any 
evil of them. So, also, is public opinion a good thing. 
An enlightened public opinion is to do more, perhaps, 
than any other agent, except truth itself, to reform the 
world. But still it is obvious, that this same power 
may, in certain circumstances, become an instrument 
of bondage. That it is liable to be such in this coun- 
try, I think, will scarcely be denied. I say, then, that 
it is not against associations as such, but against asso- 
ciations, as auxiliaries of a public opinion already too 
strong, that I would put you on your guard. I have 
said, that public opinion is like the atmosphere, sur- 
rounding and pressing upon every man in the country. 
Associations may be compared to the atmosphere put 
in motion. They sweep across a country like the 
trade-winds or monsoons. Nay, and it may be the 
sun of truth, pouring its rays upon a certain portion 
of the firmament, that sets in motion those trade-winds 
of society, associations. It is the sun of truth, I think, 
that has set in motion the moral elements of the aboli- 
tion societies ; and yet they may rise and swell, till 
they bring wreck and ruin upon the dearest interests 
of the country. I say it was the sun of truth, and I 
will explain my meaning. The abolition societies be- 
gan, I believe, in a just and generous impulse. It is 



184 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 

true, that human beings ought not to be bought or 
sold, or held in bondage. The only question is, about 
a practicable and wise measure of relief, from the evil 
and wrong that is done. But not only have abolition- 
ists failed, in my opinion, to offer any such measure ; 
but, what it particularly falls in with my design to ob- 
serve is, that the excitement* if it increases, threatens 
to be one of the most alarming character. You per- 
ceive, already, how fearfully it is mixing itself up with 
the politics of the country. 

Indeed, this is one of the general dangers which I 
was about to notice. Every association among us, 
and especially, every one that is designed to operate 
upon public opinion, is liable to take on a political 
character. It may begin in a very simple intention ; 
it may be conducted for a while with great singleness 
of purpose ; but ere long, it is likely to feel the im- 
pulse, which, in this country, is hurrying every thing 
to the ballot-box. That is the real source of power ; 
and honest men, who find themselves unable speedily 
enough to accomplish their purposes by any other 
means, may be so far wrested from their simplicity, 
as to be willing to bring their cause to that dangerous 
ordeal. Or even if they retain their simplicity, ele- 
ments may mingle with their enterprise, which they 
did not seek ; and they may discover at last, that, in 
the array of their numbers, they have only raised up 
an army, convenient and ready to the hand of some 
artful demagogue. The party leader will smile in 
himself at their zeal, and use their services ; and they 
will find, like the Independents and Round-heads in 
the time of the second Charles, that they have been 
deceived and betrayed. 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 185 

Another danger from the sway of public opinion, 
and especially, of associations is that of narrowing 
and prostrating the intellect of the country. It has 
been maintained by a modern French historian,* that 
the free action and rapid progress of the body of the 
people, is unfavorable to the production of great men ; 
that the nurturing of great minds needs leisure, repose, 
a fixed order of things, freeing them from the distrac- 
tion of surrounding events. This opinion, though it ob- 
viously requires many qualifications, has a certain plaus- 
ibility ; and it suggests the inquiry, whether the ratio 
of individual greatness among us, has not decreased 
with the general advancement of society. One thing, 
at any rate, is certain, that mind cannot grow but in 
freedom. It must be bold, fearless, independent, or it 
cannot rise. But the tendency of an overwhelming pub- 
lic opinion, is to make it timid and time-serving. The 
multiplicity of associations increases this effect. It mul- 
tiplies the questions on which it is dangerous or disa- 
greeable to speak plainly. One can scarcely speak on 
any subject now, but there is some adherent of some 
society or some party present, to be wounded or of- 
fended by his freedom. Really, we are tempted to say, 
that something must be done, some compact formed, 
some new freedom obtained in society ; or all liberty of 
general conversation will sink into whispers and innu- 
endoes. Besides, associations naturally tend, not only to 
restrain general freedom of mind, but to narrow and 
contract the views of their votaries. Opinion natu- 
turally loses expansion and freedom amidst the action 
and pressure of an association, A pledge, or a test, 

* Guizot. 

16* 



186 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 



must be brief and general ; and is likely to sacrifice 
truth as well as freedom, in the cautious and politic 
terms with which it must be announced. Associations 
are scarce likely to be the school of philosophy ; still 
less of a philosophical spirit. A votary is apt to think 
that there is no plan like his plan. Every plan must 
yield to it ; all means flow to it, all voices be secured 
for it. He would gladly forestall all that ministers to 
the decoration of life, and turn it into his treasury, 
He will not look with a wide and comprehensive sur- 
vey upon life, and see how many and varied are the 
means that contribute to its welfare. With him there 
is but one thing in the world, and that is the Missions, 
or the Education Society, or the Poor's Fund, or the 
Ministry for the Poor. 

Finally, there are moral dangers of a general na- 
ture, arising from that concentrated action of public 
opinion which is witnessed in associations. There is 
danger that virtue will lose something, and not a little, 
of its manliness, simplicity, and spontaneity ; that men 
will be more attentive to outward appearances than to 
inward qualities ; more religious than good, more cor- 
rect than virtuous, more charitable than generous, and 
more strict than pure. 

It is said that intemperance has decreased in this 
country. Is it an honest, and not an enforced reform ? 
Has no evasion, concealment, or hypocrisy resulted 
from the mode in which this enterprise has been carri- 
ed forward ? The very history of the temperance 
pledges shows that there is such a danger. At first, 
they contained a promise of abstinence from spiritu- 
ous drinks, except when they were used as medicine. 
But it soon appeared, that it was not safe to leave this 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 187 

qualification in the hands of the people ; and the pre- 
scription of a physician was required. But as a sin- 
gle prescription of this kind might spread license over 
a man's whole life, it was found necessary to restrict 
his use to the single instance prescribed for. Then, 
again, abuses crept in, under the disguises, the new 
and false appellations, which spirituous drinks receiv- 
ed ; till, at length, no barrier against hypocrisy could 
be framed but an unqualified pledge of total abstinence 
from everything that can intoxicate. This is through* 
out, a history of evasions ; and it should admonish the 
temperance societies to beware how they press assent 
beyond conviction ; to beware lest they make men the 
slaves of opinion, rather than willing subjects of the 
law of conscience. 

Again, the charities of our people, their contribu- 
tions to the various benevolent enterprises of the day, 
are immense and unexampled. I rejoice to see it. 
I wish they were doubled. They ought to be doubled, 
at least, on the part of the rich. But while I yield my 
sympathy and admiration to the spectacle of a great 
people rising up with associated power, to fulfil its du- 
ties to the poor and neglected, and to the heathen, I 
cannot help charging it upon this people, to see that its 
charities be really pure and generous. I must con- 
fess that I look with some doubt and pain, upon the 
moral administration of this business of soliciting char- 
ities. I fear that there is no delicate or proper regard 
paid to the freedom and conscience of the giver; that 
all sorts of influences are, too often, unscrupulously 
brought to bear on him, and to wrest from him a re- 
luctant donation. A great association, when it pre- 
sents itself before an individual, may very properly 



188 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 

urge upon him his duties ; but let it not urge its own 
authority, or the universal example to induce him to 
do that, which he is not in his own mind and con- 
science prepared and ready to do. I once knew the 
agent of a religious charity to receive this answer 
from the person applied to. " I shall give, because 
you have asked me, but not because I wish to give, or 
because I take any interest in your object." " Then, 
sir," was the reply, " I cannot receive your donation." 
The answer was right. Any other ground is degrad- 
ing both to the giver and receiver. But I fear that 
this is not the ground usually taken by the solicitors of 
charity. I must confess that I have never heard of 
another instance, yet, I would hope, for the honor of 
our national liberality, that it is not rare. Charity lo- 
ses all its sublimity and beauty the moment it ceases 
to be voluntary and free. There are miseries enough, 
God knoweth, and man may see, to touch our hearts 
with unforced pity. There are wastes of ignorance 
spreading far and wide ; there are vices whelming 
thousands in wo and shame ; there are victims of pen- 
ury and guilt sighing in ten thousand dwellings all 
around us. Let then charity stand forward to relieve 
— with pitying heart, and open hand — and not with an 
iron palm, half closed by a feeling baser than avarice, 
and doling out just so much as will maintain its 
reputation. Odious gifts, that profane the name of 
mercy ! not, if so I could fill a thousand treasuries, 
would I touch one of them. Dishonored would be the 
very glory of a nation's benevolence, if its gifts are can- 
kered, if its fountains are poisoned, by that taint of slav- 
ish homage to public opinion. 

Do you ask, in fine, why I lay such stress on this 



ON ASSOCIATIONS. 189 

point — freedom ? This is my answer ; and my apolo- 
gy, if any be needed, for occupying so much attention 
with this point. I know of no intellect worth posses- 
sing, without freedom. I know of no virtue worth the 
name, without freedom. A mind chained, a virtue en- 
forced, lose entirely their proper character. They are 
no longer mind and virtue. But mind and virtue are 
the only enduring treasures of individuals or of na- 
tions. You may present to me the picture of bound- 
less physical prosperity, but if these are gone, all is 
gone. An iron materialism will press, like incumbent 
fate, upon the heart of the nation ; and quench for ev- 
er, the hope and heroism, the light and glory, of the 
country ! You may tell me of free institutions, and 
they may be your boast ; you may tell me of suffrage 
and the ballot, of the constitution and the laws ; un- 
real mockery is it all, if there is not a free mind and a 
free heart in the people ! A temple of freedom, fair 
and majestic as the dreams of philosophy or poetry 
ever fancied, may be built on these shores ; but if 
slaves walk beneath it, if the very ministers at its al- 
tars are held in abject bondage to those tyrants of the 
spirit, fear and opinion ; what will it be but a temple 
deserted of its Divinity ? — what will it be, but the great 
Tomb of Liberty? 



190 



DISCOURSE VIII 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 



MARK IX. 34. By the way, they had disputed among 

THEMSELVES, WHO SHOULD BE THE GREATEST. 

This dispute is not yet ended. And as Jesus rea- 
soned with it in the case referred to in our text, and in 
many others, so do I conceive that this questioning of 
the mind about worldly distinctions, still needs to be 
reasoned with. Nay, the progress of modern society, 
is daily furnishing additional occasion for the argument. 

There are, indeed, many and high reasonings requir- 
ed, to meet the exigences of modern civilization. 
Questions concerning governments, concerning the 
balance of political powers, concerning the rights that 
are to be acknowledged and the restraints that are to 
be enforced, are spreading themselves among all read- 
ing and reflecting persons, throughout the civilized 
world. Thinking men, in an age like this, must think 
about questions such as these. Nor is it an easy, nor 
would it be a thankless task to solve them. But I 
confess that I should be yet more grateful to him, who 
would answer satisfactorily all the questions that arise 
concerning the social relationship of man to man ; and 
who could effectually teach men to dwell together, not 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 191 

merely as brethren in equality, but as brethren in spite 
of inequality. This is, indeed, a larger theme than I 
propose now to discuss. It would involve an inquiry 
into the manners of society, into the manners of dif- 
ferent classes towards each other, not only transcend- 
ing my present limits, but requiring, perhaps, greater 
freedom of treatment than public discourse allows, for 
its proper illustration. 

I shall invite your attention, at present, to a single 
point — social ambition ; and the spirit with which its tri- 
als are to be met. 

Why, let us ask, in the first place, is such a field 
opened in life, for the display of this passion ? Be- 
tween creatures of the same birth, of the same soul 
and faculty, and especially, of the same passion for 
the notice and admiration of their fellows, why, in gen- 
eral, are such immense distinctions permitted 1 Why 
is one clothed with purple and fine linen, and why far- 
eth he sumptuously every day, while his brother-man 
sitteth by his gate in rags and beggary ? Why does 
one stand in the cold shadow of neglect, while another 
passes by, amidst throng and shout and festal splendor ? 
Why do such extremes of power and weakness present 
themselves, in the form of our common humanity? Why 
is it so ordained that a man, ay, and many a man, is 
obliged to say this — " I am as industrious and honest, I 
am as rich and wise as my neighbor, and perchance, no 
worse ; and yet it availeth me not ; I have striven 
hard for a place in the world and in society, and yet, 
mere birth or connections, or fortuitous fashion, or 
clanship social or political, gives that to another which I 
cannot obtain ?" In short, for natures, craving appro- 
bation and regard, and the visible expression of those 



102 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

sentiments, why is a condition of things ordained, 
which constantly disappoints this passion, and often 
unjustly ? 

To such questioning, I know it is common to reply, 
that difference of situation gives occasion for the ex- 
ercise of various social virtues ; that for man, if there 
were none above him, there would be no call for rev- 
erence ; if none below, there would be no opportunity 
for condescension and forbearance ; that without pow- 
er, there could not be protection, nor submission with- 
out dependance ; that riches and poverty are appoint- 
ed spheres, the one for generosity, the other for grati- 
tude. Now, with this answer, I confess I am not sat- 
isfied. To those who stand in higher situations, it may, 
no doubt, be very acceptable doctrine ; but I scarcely 
think it can be, or ought to be, very satisfactory to the 
poor or neglected, to be told that they are placed in 
that state, in order that they may learn to reverence 
their superiors ; especially, when those very superiors 
frequently owe their elevation to the caprice of fash- 
ion, the worldliness of society, or the injustice of po- 
litical institutions. Nor does this inequality of the so- 
cial condition seem necessary for the end stated. Sup- 
pose that all men stood upon a perfect level; there 
would still be occasion for reverence and pity, for gen- 
erosity and forbearance, for mutual help and kindness. 
Besides, it would be but a gross view of society, and 
a still grosser view of our great and spiritual humani- 
ty, to see the virtues of either, as chiefly dependant 
on a mere transient, perishable condition — as if noth- 
ing but inferiority could inspire a man with emotions 
of gratitude and admiration, and nothing but lofty 
state could fill him with -benignity and kindness — as 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 193 

if a rich man were never to be pitied, and a poor man 
never to be envied — as if all the great and trying ex- 
periences of a sensitive and suffering nature, were to 
be merged in the mere conditions of being well or ill 
clothed, well or ill fed. 

It may seem quite unnecessary and useless, to ad- 
vert to reasonings such as I have now noticed. It may 
be thought enough to say, that the inequalities of the 
human condition result from the very attributes of hu- 
man nature. It is true that they do. Yet one may 
seek, perhaps, if not a final cause, yet the proper 
use to be made, even of that which belongs to the in- 
evitable constitution of things. And so doing, I should 
say that inequality of condition is to be regarded as a 
grand trial and test of our fidelity to high principle — 
to the loftiest rectitude. If I stood by one who tower- 
ed far above me ; if he were conspicuous before the 
world, and the shadow of his greatness flung me into 
obscurity ; if, moreover, we had been companions and 
competitors, and I had labored as hard as he, and yet 
had failed to rise to the same elevation in talent, or in 
social claims, or if I had risen to it, and yet the world 
would not see it ; if, I say, I stood thus contrasted 
with another, thus neglected in comparison with him, 
and then should ask myself, whereto served this differ- 
ence, I should say — not to work in me necessarily any 
reverence or gratitude towards my fellow, but to 
prove and test and work out in me, a reverence for 
the greatness of virtue — to put me upon those deep, 
unfathomed principles of my nature, that absorb all 
considerations of self — to fill me with a divine disin- 
terestedness towards another's virtue, with a divine 
calmness in the consciousness of my own ; to raise 
17 



194 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

me above, and carry me beyond, all worldly com- 
plainings, to the recognition of the supreme privilege, 
blessing, happiness of loving the infinite beauty of 
truth, the infinite glory of God. It is in this sharp 
contrast, in this sore conflict, that virtue gains, per- 
haps, its highest triumph on earth. Nor will it ever, 
either in this or a future world, escape this trial, this 
great challenge to the noblest elevation ; for there it 
is written, that " one star differeth from another in 
glory." But there, as the eternal ages roll, as ever- 
lasting difference makes everlasting harmony — there 
will the happy soul be for ever " satisfied with the like- 
ness" of the Divinity — ; be for ever " filled with all the 
fulness of God." 

I have alluded to certain reasonings with regard to 
the inequalities of the social condition ; but the con- 
troversy which the human heart has with this state of 
things is full practical. How this controversy has 
been carried on, and how it has failed of true success ; 
how it ought to be carried on, and how it may attain 
to the most exalted triumph — these are the points 
which I propose now to consider. 

It has been carried on, first, with strife. A man 
has seen his fellow rising above him ; succeeding be- 
yond him in business and the acquisition of property, 
or gaining the praise' of talent, distinguishing himself 
by professional ability, or literary success ; and either 
way, and, indeed, every way, winning the regard of 
society — and in fine, taking that place in public esti- 
mation, or in social life, which was the object of his 
ambition. Stung with jealousy and envy, he strives 
to equal or to surpass his prosperous competitor. Day 
and night he thinks of this ; it is the secret, the unac- 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 195 

knowledged, perhaps, but powerful impulse, which 
urges him on, to study, to business, to speculation, and 
to all sorts of plans and schemings, by which he may 
rise. For this, the ambitious man builds his house ; 
adorns it with costly furniture ; clothes his family with 
splendor ; buys horses and carriages ; gives rich en- 
tertainments ; seeks acquaintances that are above him, 
neglects those that are below him ; puts on the best 
appearances ; talks much of his rich or distinguished 
relations, keeps out of sight things that make against 
him ; is silent about his origin, his lowly, perhaps, but 
virtuous parentage ; lives, a hypocrite— labors, a 
drudge — wears out his life with toil and anxiety ; and 
all — to rise. Does he succeed ? Can he, in fact, suc- 
ceed in any manner, that ought to satisfy a rational 
being ? I say, no. First, because his course is always 
agitating, irritating, full of trouble and discomfort ; and 
secondly, because the end of a selfish and worldly am- 
bition, when it is reached, is scarcely more satisfac- 
tory than its beginning. Why ? Because, there are 
always things beyond it, just as much desired as those 
which it has already gained. Ask any of the thous- 
ands who have succeeded, from among the millions 
who have sought, and they will tell you, that they are 
not yet satisfied ; that the circle of their ambition is 
only widened ; that the passion for distinction is only 
stimulated : and as for those few of them, who are 
approaching the goal of supreme power, they need 
not tell you, for you will see, that they are only strain- 
ing every nerve harder to the course on which they 
are running. Can it be wisdom to live in this manner? 
Can that be wisdom, whose progress is continual vex- 
ation, and whose end is inevitable disappointment ? 



196 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

But, in the next place, there is another, a rarer, and, 
indeed, it is seldom more than an occasional, mood of 
mind, in which the trial of social inequality is met. 
With this mood, the strife of ambition is over for the 
time, and it sinks in low murmuring complaint, or 
wraps itself in the cheerless garment of misanthropy, 
or takes refuge behind the hard and hidebound shield 
of scorn. The man looks out and around upon the 
splendor of earthly distinctions, and says, " let it pass ; 
I will not see it ; I will not know it, The proud and 
unjust world — I will not seek its favor, nor love its 
praise. Sink, thou gorgeous phantom of this world's 
magnificence 1 into the depths of eternity — where thou 
shalt soon go. Ha ! thou art gone ! Thou wert but 
a breath, a dream, a cloud-castle ; and thou art gone ; 
and now I am as wise and good, as if I were rich and 
great, and as if all the world rang with my name alone > 
Empty breath of praise ! why should I desire ye I Let 
me alone ; leave me to obscurity ; leave me to toil — 
and tears — I can bear them !" But I say to that err- 
ing complainer — Is this, then, to bear them ? Is all 
this scorn — not caring for the world ? No ; the poor 
man's despite, the neglected man's disdain, the humble 
man's misanthropy, so far from being lofty wisdom, is 
not even simple sincerity, nor ordinary good sense . 
No ; it is not so that we are to battle with the gauds 
and honors, and the pride of this world. 

Nor, in the third place, is it any more justly, to do 
this battle, to fly, as some do, to the heights of a mys- 
tic pietism. The one sinks beneath the conflict ; the 
other strives to rise above it ; both endeavor to escape 
from it. I look upon a man whom disappointed am- 
bition, whom earthly mortification and chagrin only, 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 197 

have driven to religion, as upon a coward who has run 
to a high tower from a post of danger and of duty. 
True piety is not to lift a man above all comparison 
with his fellows, but to sustain him in that compari- 
son ; to enable him, though feeling that he is inferior, 
yet to be happy ; to enable him to say, as John said 
of Jesus, "he must increase, but I must decrease," and 
yet to be happy — even as when that noble-minded fore- 
runner said, " the friend of the bridegroom, who stand- 
eth and heareth him, rejoiceth greatly, because of the 
bridegroom's voice ; this my joy, therefore, is fulfilled." 
It is only a false and erring piety, which leads a man 
to say, " I am one of the elect of God ; lama favor- 
ite of Heaven ; and I compare not myself with the 
sons of earth ; I am altogether above and beyond all 
their questions about precedence and honor and re- 
spectability." He who stands above all other men, 
only in his conventicle or his conference-room, may 
very well doubt whether his elevation be real, or his 
religion sound and true. And it is only a false- and 
erring piety, I repeat, which receives earthly discontent 
and disdain into its bosom, but to lap them in celes- 
tial visions, and to buoy them up to dreamy heights of 
contemplation, above all the rough and stanch conflicts 
of social life. Many such refuges of modern pietism 
have there been, answering, in this respect, the same 
purpose as the monasteries and hermitages of old. 

Extremes, indeed, there have always been, one way 
or the other, to which men have ever been retreating 
from the close and pressing trials of social ambition. 
On the one hand, worldliness, wealth, rank, insignia, 
costumes, have defended them against the searching 
and honest comparison of themselves with one anoth- 
17* 



198 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

er. On the other hand, they have escaped into con- 
ventual seclusion and wild forest retreats — and farther 
yet, into spiritual pride, mysticism, asceticism, and ev- 
ery strange vagary of fanciful virtue and imaginary 
devotion. 

This will not do. These artificial defences must be 
removed ; these refuges of lies must be swept away. 
So are not the trials of society to be met. No victory 
is to be gained through such means, but only a kind of 
safety. No courage is to be nurtured in this way ; 
no fearless truth, no gentle humility, nothing half so 
beautiful even as the virtue of the old chivalry ; but 
only haughtiness, pride, either worldly or spiritual, a 
dreamy self-importance, an imbecile reliance on cir- 
cumstances. The man whom wealth, office or a title 
— whom parentage, cast, or a mystic pietism, lifts 
above the fair comparison of himself with others, is 
so far safe, indeed ; and he may bless his condition, 
his defences, his armour, if he pleases — may bless the 
friendly cloud that wraps him from the glittering weap- 
ons of his adversary; but he stands not up in the manly, 
brave and beautiful conflict of social competition. 

For that conflict, I say, may be beautiful. I know 
that it commonly elicits the worst passions, and un- 
folds the worst aspects of human nature. That is 
precisely because it is the severest trial of human 
nature. But the severest trial is always designed 
to develope the noblest virtue, and may develope it. 
The result need not be what it is often seen to 
be — anger, envy, bitterness — the quarrels of authors, 
the strifes of rivals, the poor contentions of families, 
the miserable jealousies and heart-burnings of society. 
The result may be as beautiful as the trial is severe. 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 199 

How this effect is to be wrought out, it is now my 
purpose to show. 

You stand then among those, who in common with 
yourselves, are desirous of the attention, the esteem, 
the praise of society. You are naturally led to com- 
pare your success, in this respect, with theirs. You 
do not escape this comparison by fleeing to a hermit- 
age, far from the converse of man. You do not es- 
cape it by taking refuge behind the escutcheon of 
rank, the honors of a noble birth. You do not escape 
it, let us suppose, by mounting up into the heights of a 
false and mystic devotion. You are a man ; you stand 
among men ; and are one of them. Especially, in 
this country, do you thus stand. There are no nurse- 
lings of church or state here; no baby-favorites of so- 
ciety here, to be fondled in the lap of primogeniture ; 
no froward children, to be pacified with bright toys, 
with coronets and titles. The swaddling-clothes of old 
feudal institutions are here flung aside. You stand 
among men only as a man, and — be it for good or for 
evil — altogether as a man. You may be a child of 
wealth, but the son of the poorest man from the most 
barren mountain-side in the country, has a fair chance 
to outstrip you in the race of honor, and to take a 
higher place in the world than you ; and he probably 
will do so. But not to insist on this — here you stand, 
I say, among a thousand competitors ; and of almost 
every man to whom I could speak in society, I might 
safely say, somebody is above you — somebody has 
surpassed you — some other, in your own walk. An- 
other preacher has more hearers ; another lawyer, 
more clients ; another physician, more patients ; an- 
other author, more readers ; another candidate for the 



200 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

attention of -society, educated and trained up with 
yourself perhaps, has more notice, more invitations, 
more caressings, from the great world than you have. 
Now, how is this to be met ? 

There are three conditions under which this supe- 
rior success may be gained, to which different consid- 
erations are applicable. Let us dwell upon them for 
a moment. 

In the first place, you may say, that it has been un- 
fairly gained ; that management and chicanery in a 
profession, dishonesty in business, or insincerity and 
sycophancy in society, have carried it over you. Then, 
I ask, would you take that success on condition of 
adopting the same expedients, the same character? 
Would you exchange your happiness, for such happi- 
ness ? Is such advancement any real success ? If 
you think so, you are not true to yourself. If you 
cannot stand calmly, and see such air-bubbles as 
quackery, falsehood and vanity, rising around and 
above you, you have yet to learn what is the true dig- 
nity and self-respect of a man. " But it is rather hard, 
after all," you may say ; and besides, the questions, 
you may remind me, are not such unmixed questions 
as I state ; your rivals have certain merits ; it is by 
mixing up certain other and lighter things with them, 
that they rise above you. Then, I say, you must 
make your election. If you will avail yourself of those 
other things, you may also have the envied success, 
such as it is — unsatisfactory while it lasts, and likely 
enough to be short-lived — but such as it is, you may 
have it. But if you will not make that compromise, 
if you will keep your integrity, then be your integrity 
your reward. It is reward enough. It is, indeed, the 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 201 

true success. I do not deny that it will cost you an 
effort, a trial. I look upon society as designed, through 
its very injustice, to put our truth, simplicity and inde- 
pendence to severe proof. But let them stand the 
proof, and they shall come forth as gold purified from 
the furnace. 

But, in the next place, it may be true, that others 
have surpassed you, by superior industry, by harder 
study, by greater efforts to accomplish themselves, and 
to render their manners agreeable to the world around 
them. Of this case, there is, of course, nothing to be 
said, but that all complaint on the part of the indolent 
and negligent is totally unreasonable ; and, indeed, is 
not to be reasoned with ; but only to be rebuked. 

Without dwelling upon this, therefore, I pass at 
once to the third, and, to most persons, probably, the 
hardest case of all : the case, I mean, in which the 
superiority of one to another is the gift of nature, or 
of circumstances. One inherits wealth ; another has 
beauty ; a third is endowed with high intellectual gifts. 
And from one or another of these causes, or from all 
of them combined, some are placed above you in the 
world, and, perhaps, far above you. They are sought 
as you are not sought ; they are admired and praised 
as you are not admired and praised. Attention, adu- 
lation, homage, are poured out in lavish abundance, 
at their feet ; their names are written in every news- 
paper, or mentioned in every drawing-room ; while 
you sit in silent places, beneath the shadow of the do- 
mestic roof, or by the humble way-side of life ; and 
the great world passes you by, without comment or 
inquiry. This, I say, is one of the great trials of so- 
ciety — this is, perhaps, the greatest trial in its utmost 



&02 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

pressure—and I come now, again to the question, how 
is it to be met? 

My answer to this question will relate, first to the 
distinction itself, and next to the state of mind with 
which it is to be regarded. 

In the first place, the distinction is far less than it 
seems ; I mean that it is far less to the successful as- 
pirant, than it seems to the observer. Somebody is 
above him, as far as he is above you ; and he is, per- 
haps, as little satisfied with his advancement, as you 
are with yours. He does not estimate his success as 
you do ; and he is, probably, just as anxious to rise to 
some higher point, as you are to rise to his point. The 
same questions, it is likely, the same trials are passing 
in his mind that are passing in yours. Nay, how often 
is it the case, that the man, upon whose position you 
are looking with admiration, and almost with envy, 
whom you dare not approach, by whom you imagine 
that your attentions would be scorned — how often is 
he pining, in discontent, in loneliness, and under fan- 
cied neglect ! The cup of successful ambition, I doubt 
not, is often drank in solitariness, and is dashed be- 
sides, with many a bitter ingredient. 

But, in the next place, distinction is not only less 
than it seems, but it is, in another respect, of far less 
importance than it seems. It is so, I mean, in this 
respect ; that it has no peculiar portion in the love of 
society. Admiration, praise, notice, it may have ; but 
love is not the guerdon of success. That belongs to 
goodness, and to goodness alone. It is not talent, 
wealth or beauty that wins affection. No ; let it not 
be thought that God has dealt so unequally with his 
earthly children, as to make the dearest boon of social 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 203 

existence, love, to depend on any factitious or arbitrary 
distinctions. He has thrown lighter toys among those 
children, to fall irregularly, and to be gathered une- 
qually, and according to no strict rule of justice — for- 
tunes and honors, stars and coronets, and crowns, has 
he thus disposed of, to be scrambled for — and often to 
be crushed and spoiled in the grasp which gains them ; 
but so has he not disposed of the solid and enduring 
wealth of love. No, not to high birth nor haughty 
rank ; not to beauty, proud of peerless charms ; not 
to genius that stands aloft in misanthropic scorn — to 
none of these is love given. It is dispensed on a more 
rigorous condition. It is no chance prize, no " acci- 
dent of an accident." It is taken out of the blind lot- 
tery of life. To goodness, and to goodness only, is 
true love given. And well, full well is that boon 
earned, and dearly, most dearly is it cherished, in ten 
thousand thousand dwellings, unadorned by wealth, 
unknown to fame, unvisited by the flaunting robes of 
worldly fashion. By those still waters of deep, pure 
love, let the multitudes of men sit down — of those si- 
lent fountains let them drink deep, and not disturb 
them, nor turn them into bitterness, by eager and 
angry struggles, for the lighter gifts of worldly dis- 
tinction. 

But I have admitted that these gifts have their 
value, and conceding this to them, I am to consider, 
in the second place, and finally, with what state of 
mind they are to be regarded. 

And the first feeling which is called for in the cir- 
cumstances, is one of profound submission to the will 
of God. Your neighbor holds a position above you, I 
have supposed, not merely by the aid of arts which 



204 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

you cannot practise, and do not envy ; not alone by 
means of superior industry or study, to which you are 
bound in justice to give place ; but by the force of 
talents, or other recommendations, which he owes to 
the sovereign Dispenser of every blessing. It is God, 
therefore, who has made you to differ. Was it for 
you to demand of the great Creator, what measure of 
abilities, what charms of person, what endowments of 
fortune, or what honors of parentage, he should be- 
stow upon you ? Even if you could perceive no good 
reasons, in the general economy of things, why one 
human being should differ from another ; even if you 
thought it ever so desirable that all men, in natural 
advantages, should stand on a perfect level, it is enough 
for you to know, that disparity is the sovereign ordina- 
tion of the infinite will. Thy neighbor's greatness, be 
it derived from original talent, from feeauty, or high 
parentage, is the shrine of the Almighty Sover- 
eignty. Before it thou shouldest stand in awe ; in 
awe, I say, not of thy neighbor, but in awe of God, 
And the voice which comes from that shrine, to thy 
murmuring thought, is, " be still, and know that I am 
God !" Dost thou complain of this ? As well might - 
est thou demand, that some higher world had been as- 
signed thee for thy sphere ! As well mightest thou 
demand, that thou hadst been made one of a loftier 
order of creatures — angel or archangel. 

Here I might pause. But I would not leave the 
subject without pointing out some other states of mind, 
with which the trial, whether of real or supposed in- 
feriority, is to be met. With this purpose in view, let 
us look at our own nature, and let us look around us, 
upon our fellow-men. To gain the end in view, it is 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 205 

needful that we look upon our fellow-men with love and 
confidence — upon our own nature, with devout grati- 
tude and veneration. 

Upon our fellow-men, I say, let us look with love, 
with confidence. To our peace of mind, this is essen- 
tial. A man may think lightly of this advice ; he may 
disdain to submit the high controversy with his rivals 
to a moral force ; he may smile in derision, when we 
put forward the dictates of a gentle and loving spirit, 
to wrestle with the strong and stormy passions of hu- 
man life ; he may say, that it is as if we sent a child 
into the battle of armed men ; yet let me tell that 
man, that this is the only tiling — this child in the man's 
heart — this child-like love, this child-like confidence — 
is the only thing that can bring the poor and miserable 
strifes and envyings of the world to an end. Let him 
call it what he will — weak, poor-spirited, mean — it is 
the only thing that can help him. That emblem-child 
which our Saviour once set in the midst of his ambi- 
tious disciples, is here the only powerful teacher. Re- 
fuse that teaching, pursue the worldly course — refuse, 
in short, to stand in any relation to your fellow-beings, 
but that of strife for the precedence ; and there is no 
help for you. It is not in heaven nor earth to help 
you. It is thus that the disinterested love of our kind 
is made a necessity ; not to be dispensed with, but 
upon condition of giving up all true peace of mind. 
Thus stern and uncompromising is the language of 
Providence. If you had been called upon only to love 
and admire beings far above you, in some loftier 
sphere of existence, it had been easy. So had you 
been little tried. But you are placed side by side, 
with beings who, some of them, tower above you ; 

18 



206 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

you are placed in this close pressure of social compe- 
tition — and why ? It is, I say, that every particle of 
mean selfishness and base envy, may be expelled from 
your bosom. Love, then — pure, confiding, generous, 
disinterested love — has become to you a necessity. 
You cannot do without it. You might have stood 
without it on some solitary and barren point, alone in 
the creation ; but in the world, you cannot live, and 
be happy without it. 

And how often have I seen, and surely was struck 
with observing it, that simple love, simple confidence, 
simple -self-forge tfulness, makes its way in the world, 
makes its way to the heart, penetrates through all 
barriers — finding every where an open door, and good 
welcome and acceptance ! I will not say that it was 
plain in person, poor in estate, or humble in condition ; 
it might be so, or it might not ; but this I mean to say y 
that in every sphere, disinterested goodness is the pre- 
eminent quality ; happy in itself, and most likely, other 
things being equal, to be happy in the love of others. 
Yes, amidst all the selfishness and injustice of the 
world, this is true. And, therefore, would I send 
every complainer, every murmurer, every jealous or 
anxious or desponding person, that is ever thinking of 
himself — I would send him to the school of love — to 
the school of Christ. Thou mayest seek, restless, dis- 
contented one ! many resources, many reliefs ; but 
thou must come to Christ, if ever thou wouldst find 
rest to thy soul. This is no cant language, no lan- 
guage of the pulpit merely ; it is the language of sim- 
ple truth ; the only language that applies to the simple, 
actual relations of being to being. Had there been no 
Bible — had there been no religion, it were true. Never 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 207 

canst thou look rightly upon thy neighbor, upon thy 
companion, soaring above thee, unless thou lookest 
upon him in a kindly and loving spirit. This only can 
compose the miserable strifes of society. Come down, 
celestial goodness ! — as an angel, come down ; and un- 
seal the fountains of healing, and spread new life and 
beauty over the barrenness of an unkindly, envious 
and unhappy world ! 

One further consideration I have mentioned, and to 
that I would invite your attention for a moment in 
close. It is the consideration of our own nature. 

Your neighbor is above you in the world's esteem, 
perhaps — above you, it may be, in fact ; but what are 
you ? You are a man ; you are a rational and reli- 
gious being ; you are an immortal creature. Yes, a 
glad and glorious existence is yours ; your eye is 
opened to the lovely and majestic vision of nature ; 
the paths of knowledge are around you, and they 
stretch onward to eternity ; and most of all, the glory 
of the infinite God, the all-perfect, all- wise, and all- 
beautiful, is unfolded to you. What now, compared 
with this, is a little worldly eclat ? The treasures of 
infinity and of eternity are heaped upon thy laboring 
thought ; can that thought be deeply occupied with 
questions of mortal prudence ? It is as if a man were 
enriched by some generous benefactor, almost beyond 
measure, and should find nothing else to do, but to vex 
himself and complain, because another man was made 
a few thousands richer. 

Where, unreasonable complainer ! dost thou stand, 
and what is around thee ? The world spreads before 
thee its sublime mysteries, where the thoughts of sages 
lose themselves in wonder ; the ocean lifts up its eter- 



208 ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 

nal anthems to thine ear; the golden sun lights thy 
path ; the wide heavens stretch themselves above thee, 
and worlds rise upon worlds, and systems beyond sys- 
tems, to infinity : and dost thou stand in the centre of 
all this, to complain of thy lot and place ? Pupil of that 
infinite teaching ! minister at Nature's great altar ! 
child of heaven's favor ! ennobled being ! redeemed 
creature ! must thou pine in sullen and envious mel- 
ancholy, amidst the plenitude of the whole creation ? 

" But thy neighbor is above thee," thou sayest. 
What then ? What is that to thee ? What, though 
the shout of millions rose around him ? What is that, 
to the million-voiced nature that God has given thee ? 
That shout dies away into the vacant air ; it is not 
his : but thy nature — thy favored, sacred and glorious 
nature — is thine. It is the reality — to which praise is 
but a fleeting breath. Thou canst meditate the things, 
which applause but celebrates. In that thou art a 
man, thou art infinitely exalted above what any man 
can be, in that he is praised. I had rather be the hum- 
blest man in the world, than barely be thought greater 
than the greatest. The beggar is greater, as a man, 
than is the man, merely as a king. Not one of the 
crowds that listened to the eloquence of Demosthenes 
and Cicero — not one who has bent with admiration 
over the pages of Homer or Shakspeare — not one 
who followed in the train of Cesar or of Napoleon, 
would part with the humblest power of thought, for 
all the fame that is echoing over the world and through 
the ages. 

Upon those mighty resources, then, upon those in- 
finite benefactions of thy being, cast thyself and be 
satisfied. Thou canst read ; thou canst think ; thou 



ON SOCIAL AMBITION. 209 

canst feel ; thou canst love — and be loved ; thou 
canst love the infinitely lovely : — say, then, that it is 
enough ! In that ocean of good, let poor and pitiful 
pride and ambition be swallowed up. Amidst an in- 
finitude of blessings, let humble gratitude and bound- 
less reverence, be the permament forms and charac- 
ters of thy being. 



18^ 



210 



DISCOURSE IX. 

ON THE PLACE WHICH EDUCATION AND RELIGION MUST 
HAVE, IN THE IMPROVEMENT OF SOCIETY. 



II. PETER I, 5 — 7. Add to your faith virtue; and to 

VIRTUE, KNOWLEDGR ; AND TO KNOWLEDGE, TEMPERANCE ; 
AND TO TEMPERANCE, PATIENCE ; AND TO PATIENCE, GODLI- 
NESS ; AND TO GODLINESS, BROTHERLY-KINDNESS; AND TO 
BROTHERLY-KINDNESS, CHARITY. 

I have thus far, in this series of discourses on soci- 
ety, been occupied chiefly with the consideration of 
evils and dangers. I shall in this discourse, invite your 
attention to remedial and conservative principles. It 
is not my intention, however, to apply them to the 
evils already stated, since it was natural to connect 
with the notice of them, some consideration of the 
proper remedies ; and since there are other evils no less 
obvious and urgent. I may add here, that I aim at no 
completeness in this series of discourses ; my plan is 
to notice only such topics, however isolated and dis- 
connected, as justly press themselves upon our atten- 
tion, in the moral views which we are taking of mod- 
ern society. 

The principles of improvement and safety which I 
propose now to examine, are education and religion. 
The space which I shall be able to give to these sub- 
jects, in a single discourse, must be, compared with 



OF SOCIETY. 211 

their importance, very small ; and, indeed, instead of 
attempting fully to discuss their social bearings, my 
purpose rather is, in accordance with the hint of my 
text, to suggest some things which need to be added 
to the popular views of them. 

But let us consider, for a moment, the state of things 
on which these suggestions are to bear. 

It is, doubtless, a very extraordinary state of things. 
Its distinctive feature, is a grand popular movement, 
slowly propagating itself through all civilized nations — 
a revolution of ideas, which is elevating the mass of 
mankind to importance and power ; and, in fact, to the 
eventual government of the world. It is a revolution 
which goes alike beyond all former examples in history, 
and principles in philosophy. The education of this 
age — that mass of sentiment and maxims which it has 
received from former ages — does not prepare it to 
understand itself. Though the noblest genius and 
philosophy of former times, have been distinguished by 
their generous recognition of the claims of humanity ; 
yet they have seldom descended to work out the great 
problem of human rights. They have shown more ad- 
miration for human nature, than confidence in it. Their 
speculations, indeed, have proceeded upon grounds 
widely different from the present state of facts. When 
Aristotle discoursed in such discouraging terms on the 
popular tendencies, he discoursed concerning a people 
that could not read ; that had no newspapers ; that 
were ignorant and brutal, compared with our educated 
and Christian communities. When Plato reasoned of 
his ideal republic, his ground was pure hypothesis ; 
his work pure fiction. The philosophy of modern 
politics, has not, been written in past times ; it cannot 



212 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

be written now ; that work, I believe, in its full per- 
fection must be left to a future age. I do not pretend 
to say what it will be ; the principle of intelligent. 
Christian freedom may develope results, that are out 
of the range of our present contemplation. But this, 
I think, is evident, that when the future philosopher 
and historiographer rises, that shall analyze and pour- 
tray the stupendous revolution that is now passing in 
the civilized world, he will speak of a revolution hav- 
ing no precedent in history. None was ever so uni- 
versal, so profound, or so fearful. All former revolu- 
tions have been local, occasional and sanguinary. In 
former days, when power has been wrested from its 
despotic possessor, it has been done only by a violent 
and bloody hand. But now, an influence, silent and 
irrisistible, is rising up from the mass of the people, 
and is stealing from thrones and princedoms and hier- 
archies their unjust prerogatives ; and, at the same 
time, as if by some wonder-working magic, is making 
their incumbents helpless to resist, and even willing to 
obey. Potentates are learning a new lesson, and so 
are the people too. Before, revolutions have been 
violent and bloody, from the very weakness of those 
who have carried them on, from the very uncertainty 
whether they should succeed. Now, the people are 
reposing in calm security upon their undoubted 
strength. Assurance has made them moderate* Let 
no one mistake their moderation for apathy, or their 
quietness for defeat ; for they are calm only in pro- 
portion as they are determined and sure.* 

* Nothing surprised me more, four years ago in England, 
than what appeared at first sight, this apathy ; this moderate^ 



OF SOCIETY. 213 

Such is, undoubtedly, the character of the present 
era, however we may regard the good or the evil 
involved in it. To me, I confess, it is far the most 
momentous and sublime era in the history of the 
world. The introduction of Christianity, and the 
discoveiy of printing — the two greatest events on 
record — are, in fact, now producing, for the first time, 
on the broad theatre of national fortunes, the very 
results which we are witnessing. They have given 
birth, if not to the free principles of modern times, at 
least, to their free action. Like the sun and the moon 
in heaven, they have penetrated by their influence the 
great deep of society. The effect produced, may well 
awaken that solemn and even religious emotion in the 
mind, of which a late distinguished writer has spoken. 
What is now presented to the attention of the world, 
is not, as formerly, kingdoms convulsed, or navies 
wrecked upon the shore, but that " tide in the affairs 
of men," that slow rising, and gradual swelling of the 
whole ocean of society, which is to bear every thing 
upon its bosom. 

It is scarcely possible to speak of this great move- 
ment of modern society, without something like anxiety 
and apprehension. The very terms, in which our 
conceptions of it naturally clothe themselves, bear an 
aspect as of something portentous and fearful. And 
that there is actual danger in this revolution of opinions, 
I am so far from denying, that it is the very purpose of 
this discourse to discuss the only principles of safety. 

tone of the most radical reformers ; but how much more was I 
struck, to find, on closer observation, this deeper determination, 
this repose of conscious strength ; the purpose to succeed not 
weakened, but only stronger in its calmness! 



214 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

But, at the same time, I cannot take my place 
among the alarmists. I cannot believe, that the feel- 
ing of apprehension which is springing up all over the 
civilized world, is justified in its full extent. There 
are dangers, doubtless : what season of probation for 
high ends, ever failed to be a season of peril ? To 
warn one another of that peril ; to summon brave, 
honest and true hearts to meet it ; to stand amidst 
the people as one of their brethren, and to lift up the 
voice of friendly admonition, is well. How well it is, 
to stand aloof from them, and to fling down dis- 
couragement and scorn upon the popular cause, I 
must leave others to determine. But this I must say, 
that if indeed that cause shall fail, if the future historian 
of this momentous period, must write its story in tears 
and blood, I shall ever believe it will be, in part, be- 
cause the proper intellectual guides of the world, were 
not true to the solemn trust reposed in them. It is, 
indeed, an extraordinary fact — a fact reversing, in a 
striking manner, the usual course of things— that 
while opinion ordinarily propagates itself from the more 
educated to the more ignorant classes, the popular 
cause is now rising and swelling against the loudest 
remonstrances of so many superior minds, as if it were, 
indeed, an ocean-tide, against which nothing is destined 
to prevail. 

This remonstrance, this alarm, seems to me, I have 
ventured to say, to be carried to an unwarrantable ex- 
tent. Alarm, indeed, appears to be one of the epi- 
demic diseases of the age. Every religious associa- 
tion, every little spiritual coterie, every school of sect, 
speculation and philanthrophy, is trembling for the 
fate of the world. Now, the philosophy of the world 



OF SOCIETY. 215 

is going to ruin it ; then, its extravagance, intemper- 
ance, licentiousness is to do the work ; then popery, 
heresy, infidelity, is elevated to this bad eminence in 
mischief. The danger from some of these quarters, I 
freely admit. But, it is really worth while to observe, 
through how many prophecies of ruin, through how 
many critical and doomed periods, the world has lived. 
Truly, one is sometimes tempted to say to these alarm- 
ists, " Good sirs, have a little patience ; the world is 
likely to last our time ; the purposes of Providence 
will stand, though you be disappointed in some of 
your favorite theories or projects." 

It is one effect of this alarm, to turn the public at- 
tention too much to immediate and palpable resorts 
for safety, to the readiest instruments that come/ to 
hand, rather than to those deep and broad foundations 
which must be laid in the moral education, the culti- 
vated and spiritualized mind of the community. Thus, 
if some Constitution can be preserved, if some House 
of Lords can be hedged about with impregnable de- 
fences, it seems to be thought, that the world will be 
saved. Thus, almost all the reforms of the day, are 
turning upon some palpable e\il; as intemperance, 
licentiousness, pauperism. But important or other- 
wise, as any of these efforts may be, there is a work 
of redemption that must go deeper, must go down 
into the heart of the world, or it will not be saved, in 
the great crisis that is approaching. How easy were 
it to show, that there are evils lying beneath all palpa- 
ble evils, and which, if the same universal attention 
were fixed upon them, would appear far greater. In- 
temperance, licentiousness, pauperism, and with these, 
popular violence, mobs and tumults, are all but indexes 






216 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

of deeper evils, symptoms of deeper maladies, that are 
seated in the very heart of society. Alas ! the world 
is not well, is not happy in itself — the infinite wants 
of humanity are not provided for — else, would not the 
world break out, on every hand, for relief from those 
necessities and pains, that are preying upon its inmost 
bosom. 

I must add, that even where the real conservative 
principles, education and religion, are resorted to, they 
are too often, I fear, but superficially regarded ; and 
are, as they are used, but ready instruments, instead 
of being considered as deep principles and thorough 
remedies. If education with us, is a mere technical 
system, a mere teaching of the arts and sciences com- 
monly learned in schools ; if religion is a mere state- 
engine, or only a form or creed, or barely a charity 
to the poor and vicious, neither will exert the needed 
influence. It is striking to observe, that the whole 
strength of the Tory party in England, all its will, 
wish and thought about religion, seems to be occupied 
with the preservation of a visible Establishment. I 
may do injustice to this aim, but it seems to me, that 
it is, in the hands of many of its most earnest sup- 
porters, the mere worldly scheme of worldly men ; 
and certain I am, that no such scheme will answer 
now. I maintain, on the contrary, that deeper views 
of education and religion must be added to those 
which now prevail ; that to education must be added 
a moral influence, and to religion a deeper philosophy 
and a more thoroughly practical character, in order 
to make them the guardian powers that the present 
age requires. And these are the positions, of which it 
is now my further purpose, to attempt some illustration. 



OP SOCIETY. 217 

The first subject to be considered is education. 
From the earliest settlement of the country, this has 
engaged the earnest attention of our communities. 
We have set the first example in the world, of the in- 
struction of the whole mass of the people. Education 
has ever been our watch- word, and our boast. No 
celebration of any public festival, no grave dissertation 
of the closet upon our institutions, ever omits the re 
cognition of its importance. On every side, it is con- 
stantly represented, as the sheet-anchor of our liberty. 

Well is it that we pay this homage to education ; 
but have we sufficiently considered what it must be, 
to answer the end proposed ? Have we not made it 
a mere watch-word — have we not regarded it as a 
mere talisman, and expected some magical effects 
from it, rather than entered into a deep consideration 
of its nature ; of the qualities which adapt it to the 
preservation of the national order and security ? 

I beg attention to this inquiry. And for the pur- 
pose of awakening that attention, I wish to present to 
you one or two extraordinary facts bearing on this 
point, from the history of education in Europe. In 
Prussia, where, so far as mechanism is concerned, the 
most perfect system of public instruction ever known, 
has recently been adopted — in that kingdom, I say, 
education is considered as nothing without religion. 
* The first vocation of every school," says one of its 
ordinances, " is to train up the young in such a man- 
ner as to implant in their minds, a knowledge of the 
relation of man to God, and at the same time, to ex- 
cite both the will and the strength, to govern their 
lives after the spirit and precepts of Christianity. 
Schools must early train children to piety, and, there- 

19 



218 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

fore, must strive to second and complete the early 
instructions of parents." Again, in France, which 
some while since sent one of her most distinguished 
philosophers* to inquire into the Prussian system of 
education, and where that system, but without its re- 
ligious influence, has been partially adopted,' we are 
presented with this extraordinary and astounding 
statement — viz., that in the best educated departments, 
the greatest amount of crime has been found to exist. 
This is not an observation made at hazard ; it is abso- 
lutely a matter of statistics. Nakedly stated, the fact 
is this ; that education in France has produced crime. 
This, at least, is what is admitted by the friends of 
education in France, and insisted upon by its enemies 
in England ;f and with my views of the subject, I 
V have no difficulty in admitting that it is true. 

For this is the view which I take ; that education, 
considered simply as instruction in reading, writing, 
arithmetic, &c, — education, separate from any moral 
influence, does not necessarily tend to make any peo- 
ple better, and may be easily perverted, so as to make 
them worse. " Knowledge," it is often said, " is 
power;" but it is power, as capable of bad as of good 
uses. Thus, the knowledge of reading and writing 
communicated to a people, may only increase the 
number of forgers and counterfeiters : the knowledge 
of arithmetic may only multiply the chances of knavery 
in accounts. Thus, also, an acquaintance through 
newspapers, with the conduct of government or of 
obnoxious individuals, may urge a simple people to 

* Cousin. See his Report on the Prussian System, 
f See an article on Democracy, in Blackwood's Magazine, 
No. 225. 



OF SOCIETY. 219 

disaffection and treason, or hurry a quiet people into 
mobs and tumults. And, in the same way, general 
knowledge, into which no moral principles are infused, 
may lead men to ambition, discontent, envy and un- 
happiness, and by these means, to excess, extrava- 
gance and vice. But I am speaking mainly of that 
particular knowledge, which is commonly gained in 
schools. There is, indeed, a higher intelligence which 
is favorable to virtue, inasmuch as it sees all else but 
virtue, to be utter folly and mistake. But of know- 
ledge, considered as a mere technical acquisition, I 
say, that it is a mere instrument, whose use and utility 
will depend on its moral direction. 

It is upon these clear and indisputable grounds, that 
I maintain the necessity of adding to our knowledge, 
virtue ; to our system of education, a moral and 
spiritual influence. Other things must be taught in 
our schools, besides the elements usually considered 
as belonging to them. Good morals and pious senti- 
ments should be as anxiously and earnestly taught, as 
reading and writing. 

But I must not be content on this vital point, with 
a general statement. Education, in the largest sense, 
is the preparation of the mind for the scene in which it 
is to act. What, then, should be the education of a free 
people — and, indeed, of human beings as such ? I an- 
swer, that our youth should be taught, at some period 
before they leave the common schools, that they are to 
be electors, jurors, magistrates, and, perhaps, legisla- 
tors ; and thus, virtually, rulers of the country. They 
should be made to feel something of the weighty 
charge that is about to be devolved upon them. They 
should be made to understand the duties to their coun- 



220 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

try and to their God, which are implied in the trust 
they are about to assume. Were this faithfully 
taught in all our schools, we might hope, ere long, to 
see a time, when the whole political action of the 
country should not run to passion and caprice and 
prejudice, and a mere contest for the mastery. Were 
this done, we might hope to see, ere long, an end of 
that pernicious distinction, which is now made be- 
tween individual and party morality, between personal 
and official conscience ; and political confidence and 
public honor would no longer be heaped upon men, 
whose lives are stained with private vices. Again, an 
education of youth for the part they have to act in 
our communities, should enter deeply into their social 
relations, should imbue their minds with independ- 
ence, magnanimity, candor and courtesy, should put 
them on their guard against ambitious aspirings and 
preying discontents, should moderate the strife for 
social precedence, should teach respect for the laws, 
should clothe the constitution of the country with an 
inviolable panoply, should arm the majesty of legal 
justice with the authority of conscience. In fine, an 
education for life, essentially involves the deepest prin- 
ciples of religion ; and though the family is the great 
school for this kind of education, yet no school should 
fail of recognising it, as a part of the nurture and dis- 
cipline of youth. The weariness and ennui that are 
commonly witnessed in our schools, the indocility and 
insubordination of which there is so much complaint, 
arise, in a considerable measure, from the want of any 
perceived connection between them and the practical 
objects of life. The child does not well understand 
what all this study is for. Place, then, before him. 



OF SOCIETY. » 221 

the scene of life, make it a part of the regular business 
of instruction, to speak to him of the situations in which 
he will be placed, and of what will be a just and noble 
conduct in them ; and then, as surely as human nature 
has any principles to be relied on, their attention and 
interest will be aroused. The ends of life, the princi- 
ples of happiness, the art of living — physically, mentally 
and morally considered — the morals of business and 
pleasure, the occupations and callings of men, carried 
into detail — what they are, what are the instruments 
they work with, what is their utility, what are their 
duties — all these subjects, not in dry and abstract 
terms, such as I now use, but with vivid and almost 
dramatic representation, might be presented to our 
youth, and contribute to that intelligence and virtue, 
which are the basis of our national well-being and 
safety. 

Education must rise among us, or the nation must 
sink. That it will advance, I cannot doubt, when I 
see the spirit that is manifested in various parts of the 
country. But there is one alarming fact, that ought 
to fix the attention of the country, till it is aroused to 
greater exertions than it has yet put forth. The pro- 
gress of population in some of the states, is, at this mo- 
ment, outstripping the progress of education. There 
was a time when scar cely a youth could be found in 
the whole nation, who was not taught the elements of 
learning. The number of the uninstructed, is now 
some hundreds of thousands, if it must not, indeed, be 
stated to be more than a million ! I know not in what 
terms to dwell upon this fact, that shall present its full 
claims upon the public attention. If nations, as such, 
have ever any vocation, ours is to educate the people. 

19* 



222 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

If Providence ever laid a weight of obligation like the 
weight of destiny, upon any people, it has laid that ob- 
ligation upon us. If it ever spread before the eyes of 
any people, the yawning gulf of destruction, and dis- 
tinctly warned them to beware of it, it has spread be- 
fore us, in that character, the dark gulf of popular 
ignorance. Into it, the nation will inevitably descend, 
. unless it is closed up. No single sacrifice, like the 
fabled sacrifice of the Roman Curtius, can avert the 
danger. The fearful chasm in our popular education, 
can be closed only by the united efforts of the whole 
people. A representative government represents the 
character of the people. And that government which 
represents prevailing ignorance, degradation, brutality 
and passion, has its fate as certainly sealed, as if, from 
the cloud that envelopes the future, a hand came forth, 
and wrote upon your mountain walls, the doom of ut- 
ter perdition ! 

To avert such a doom, the next great power to 
which we appeal, is religion. Intelligence and reli- 
gion are the two grand conservative principles of all 
society. And neither of them can be relied on, to the 
exclusion of the other. Religion is wanted to give to 
intelligence a right direction ; and intelligence is equal- 
ly wanted to make religion rational, sober and wise ; 
to preserve it from superstition and fanaticism ; from 
that fatal substitution, so common, of forms and fancies 
v • and articles of faith for practical virtue. I say, that 
neither of these great conservative principles can be 
dispensed with. Many political economists have in- 
sisted on the necessity of education, without seeming 
to be sensible of the necessity of religion. But I can- 
not understand upon what ground a man can believe 



OP SOCIETY. 223 

in one, without believing in the other. Nay, if I be- 
lieved in neither, if I looked upon the frame of society 
only with the eye of an artist, if I cared not what be- 
came of human governments, or the human character, 
or any thing else human, I should still be compelled to 
see and admit, that there is no basis for human wel- 
fare, individual, social or national, none conceivable or 
possible, none provided by the great Framer of the 
world, but intelligence and virtue. 

But it is not my purpose in this discourse, to defend 
so large, and, I hope, so evident a proposition. It is 
my design rather, as I have stated it, to point out an 
extension of the great conservative principles, which, 
I apprehend is not equally admitted, or, at least, not 
equally considered. This design, so far as it relates 
to religion, contemplates that subject in two relations 
to the general welfare ; first, to the poor and distress- 
ed classes of society, and secondly, to the whole body. 

With regard to pauperism, and its consequent mis- 
eries and vices, the religious action of society has hither- 
to mostly contented itself with charities ; with means 
and efforts directed to the relief of its palpable evils. 
I trust the time has now arrived, when a new princi- 
ple is to be adopted. This principle is, to do the least 
possible for the body, and the utmost possible for the 
mind ; to apply ourselves directly to the root of all 
evil, the soul's ignorance and debasement ; to elevate 
the physical condition, through the improvement of the 
moral condition. 

It has, at length, been found out, that general and 
indiscriminate charities only multiply the evils which 
they propose to relieve.; that pauperism grows by 



224 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

what it thus feeds on. The history of English chari- 
ties has shown this on a large scale, and our own 
experience, so far as we have followed that example, 
has brought out the same result. This treatment of 
pauperism constantly produces a two-fold effect ; phy- 
sical necessity and mental imbecility together, grow 
and thrive upon it. So certain is this, that beggary 
has become, to every reflecting man, who has looked 
into the subject, the index to the saddest combination 
of physical and moral evils. In Europe there is more 
apology for it. But I confess, that in our country, in 
our streets, it affects me to see a man or a woman 
stretch out the hand for alms. For I know, that in 
almost all cases, it is an indication just as clear as if a 
placard were presented by that hand, setting forth a 
story of indolence, improvidence, vice and degrada- 
tion. And just as plainly would a true hand-writing 
show, that to give to such applicants, is, in almost 
every instance, only to increase all that debasement 
and misery. Nay, and I am inclined to think there 
is more suffering that is buried in silence, ay, and 
clothed in the decent garb of respectable poverty, 
than is indicated by the brazen beggary of the streets. 
Still, I admit, that such cases are to be attended to. 
But I maintain, that the only right attention is that 
which follows them to their homes. When it finds 
there, sickness, or helpless age, or urgent distress, 
which for the moment nothing else can meet, it is to 
give relief. But the grand principle of all wise charity 
is, that he who would benefit a poor family, must visit 
it, must make himself acquainted with its condition 
and character, and must apply himself to the removal 



OF SOCIETY, 225 

of those mental and moral evils which lie at the foun- 
dation of all its wants and miseries.* 

In fine, religion, when it addresses itself to the re- 
lief of indigence, must learn to respect the poor, and 
to feel for them. " To goodness we must add bro- 
therly kindness." I fear we little know what a deep 
and almost terrific sentiment of hatred, is often engen- 
dered in the breasts of the poor, by the ordinary ad- 
ministration of charities. They feel themselves de- 
graded rather than obliged, by this manner of giving. 
They become, in fact, enemies of their benefactors. 
They have their part to play as well as the philan- 
thropists. They consider it a sort of contest between 
them ; and their business is to get all they can ; to 
deceive as much as possible ; and to remunerate them- 
selves, to the utmost, for the unhappy and degrading 
relation which they sustain to their superiors. This 
is human nature. And it is only by forgetting what 
human nature is, that we have been able to overlook 
this inevitable result. A man is not to be relieved as 
your horse or your dog may be. It must be done 
with a sentiment of respect. I would that a new 
mode of giving were introduced, more accordant with 
the humanity and gentleness of the Gospel. I would 
that a man should be pained by having a fellow-being 
approach him in the humble attitude of a beggar. I 
would that a flush of ingenuous and sympathizing 
shame, should overspread the brow of the giver. Alms 
are not to be a matter of business ; and yet let it be 

* On this head, I cannot do any thing so well, as to refer the 
reader to Mr. Arnold's last admirable Report. It is Mr. A.'s 
"Seventh Semi-annual Report of his service as Minister at 
large in New York." 



226 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

considered whether all public and indiscriminate chari- 
ties will not, without the greatest care, inevitably be 
of this character. They must not be conferred upon 
the poor with indifference, or flung to them with 
contempt. 

Would you do good then to your poor brethren of 
the human family — respect them, love them, feel for 
them. Go forth, and commune with them. Lay aside 
your robes of pride ; they will but entangle you. Go 
freely forth, and as you have opportunity, mingle with 
them ; commune with them frankly ; help them ; com- 
fort them ; make them respect themselves ; make them 
virtuous ; make them happy. How can you hope to 
do the good you ought to do, to your poor brethren, till 
in deep sympathy you feel and act as one among them, 
and of them ? They are not out of the pale of hu- 
manity. They are your brethren. You are of them. 
Before the great Giver, you are all poor. Where is 
the proud, strong, rich man, that stands aloof from his 
fellow-man, as if he were one of another species ? 
To-morrow, perhaps, thou shalt lie down upon thy 
bed, to die — poor as the poorest — about to be stripped 
of every thing. To-day, thou oughtest to kneel down 
before thy God, and to say, "give me, O thou Supreme 
and ever Gracious One — not gold and silver — but that 
which is infinitely dearer, that which I infinitely more 
need than ever houseless outcast needed my alms : — 
give me thy pardon, thy mercy, thine everlasting 
favor !" 

Such, my friends, is the application of religion to 
the single relation in society of the rich to the poor ; 
let us now consider it in its bearing on the welfare of 
the whole social body. 



OF SOCIETY. 227 

The simple and single question is, what kind of reli- 
gion is adapted to the ends of our particular govern- 
ment and our peculiar social economy ? If religion 
were to answer the purposes of a despotic govern- 
ment, it might be a mere political engine, a creature 
of the state. Such were most of the religions of an- 
tiquity. If it were to be the mere tool of a priesthood, 
or of an ecclesiastical state, it might be, to answer that 
purpose, a superstition and a bondage. Believing, ac- 
quiescing, submitting, might then be every thing, and 
practice, little or nothing. But if religion is to be the 
friend, the improver and guardian of a whole people, 
what must it then be? 

I might answer in the very words of Scripture, and 
say, that it must be a religion " first, pure ; then, peace- 
able ; full of good fruits, without partiality, and without 
hypocrisy ;" or in the words of my text, and say, " add 
to godliness, brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kind- 
ness, charity." 

But let us enter into some detail ; and looking be- 
yond the narrow bounds of sectarian preference, let 
us consider upon broad and rational grounds, what the 
religion of a free people must be. 

Surely, it must first of all, be pure. It must lay the 
axe at the root of every thing wrong in society. It 
must hold no compromise with the vices either of the 
rich or of the poor, of the high or of the low ; of poli- 
ticians or private men, of statesmen or citizens. All 
are to come under one grand law, and to be amenable 
to one rule. There is to be no saving clause for peo- 
ple of condition, for the great or rich, for prince or - 
monarch. None are to be considered as above the 
restraints of religion, and none beneath its mercies. 



228 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

But the main consideration on which I intend to in- 
sist is, that our religion must be practical. Solemn 
forms, and dark scholastic dogmas, might answer the 
purpose of producing an outward decency and an im- 
plicit acquiescence, but they will not be living powers, 
acting on the vital interests of society. Doctrines, that 
have been written in books, must be written in the 
heart. Creeds must not take the place of virtues, nor 
professions of principles. All substitutions that pre- 
vent religion from bearing directly upon the heart and 
the daily life, must be done away. Nor is the work 
to be done in this respect, a slight one. How much 
religion is kept from the hearts of the people by the 
common forms of its administration, is a serious ques- 
tion. In this view, I look with more than doubt, upon 
the peculiar constitution of the church in this country. 
We have not an establishment, and we bless ourselves 
in our exemption from it. But we have what I fear 
is worse in its effect upon the popular mind, an eccle- 
siastical oligarchy. In most other Christian countries, 
the people are regarded as the children of the church, 
and are freely invited to participate in its ordinances. 
Two or three sects among ourselves, the Catholics, 
the Episcopalians, and the Unitarians in some of their 
churches, follow the same rule. But with these ex- 
ceptions, the churches of this country hold the grand 
characteristic ordinances of Christianity, in the power 
of their vote. And if religion, in its only embodied 
form, thus stands aloof from the people, if it surrounds 
itself with a barrier of exclusion, does it not so far cut 
itself off from free access to individual minds and 
hearts? In such a country as this, above all others, 
religion should be the liberal, generous and gracious 



OF SOCIETY. 229 

protector and friend of the people. No otherwise can 
it be efficient and practical. 

But there are other defects in its administration. If 
religion clothes itself with the cumbrous ^irmor of the 
Middle Ages, with scholastic dogmas and disquisitions, 
it cannot worthily and manfullj T fight the battle for 
freedom. The great foes of our liberty, sin, vice, avar- 
ice, sensuality, luxury and social ambition, are not so 
to be vanquished. What care they for decrees, and 
substitutions, and imputations of righteousness, and 
the subtilties of creeds — paper shields and helmets of 
parchment, and solemn priestly robes — what, I repeat, 
do the rooting herds of worldliness and voluptousness, 
care for them ? Religion must come to a closer con- 
test with human wickedness, if it would ever gain the 
mastery. The pulpit must be unchained. The preacher 
must be free. No fastidious solemnity, no artificial 
sanctity, no superstitious dogmas of prevailing opinion 
about what is peculiarly spiritual or religious, must re- 
strain him. He must go down freely into the midst 
of life, and nothing must escape him that seriously af- 
fects the virtue of society. The power which the 
preacher might exert on the public welfare, is as yet 
but little known. One day in seven given up to him ; 
ten thousand pulpits in this land opened to him ; so 
many posts in a country to hold it against its moral 
enemies — such an array of force, were it wisely exert- 
ed, might stand against all dangers, and ensure the 
national intelligence, virtue and piety. 

But there is still another and more subtle foe to the 
practical efficiency of our religion ; and that is found 
in the prevailing idea of its nature. The constitution 
of the church, the character of the pulpit, have their 

20 



230 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

influence, and it is great* But there is, more deeply- 
embedded in the very heart of society, the conception, 
that religion does not consist in the practical, every 
day virtues — justice, honesty, brotherly kindness, gen- 
tleness, candor and truth— but that it consists essen- 
tially in a certain peculiar state of the affections, an 
acquiescence of the heart in a particular plan of salva- 
tion, the consummation of a special process of expe- 
rience, the result, in short, of a miraculous conversion, 
Other things, indeed, follow from religion ; but this is 
religion itself. I have weighed every word I have 
now uttered, with unfeigned anxiety to do no injustice 
to the popular sentiment. And I do not object, let it 
be observed, that this process and these peculiarities 
should be considered as occasional appendages of real 
piety and goodness, but only that they should be re- 
garded as its essence. And that they are so regarded, 
the answer of three persons out of every four you 
meet, will show you. If you question them as to their 
religious character, you will find that is made by them 
to depend on these points. The question with them 
will be about a time and a process, a despair and a 
hope, a conviction and a conversion. The main stress 
of their anxieties will rest upon these points. They will 
not ask themselves, whether they are now honest and 
upright, temperate and forbearing, kind-hearted and 
true ; but whether at a particular time they have had 
a particular experience, and whether they have kept 
up the feeling of that experience all along till now. 

I have entered farther than I intended into this dis- 
tinction ; but it is, indeed, most vital to the bearings 
of religion on society. For is it not perfectly evident, 
that in proportion as too much stress is laid upon the 



OF SOCIETY. 231 

points just noticed, too little will be laid upon the vir- 
tues of social and private life ? This, I apprehend, is 
the grand defect of the religion of our country. There 
is much religion among us, and, I believe, that it is in- 
creasing. So far all is well, is cheering. Would that 
it were all sound, rational and true ! 

It is possible, in our religion, to give an undue prom- 
inence even to the purest spirituality and piety ; and 
thus, to give too little space to the social virtues. 
There is one piece of sacred history that most em- 
phatically teaches us on this point. David was a most 
devout man ; his writings show it ; and this, I sup- 
pose, is what is meant by his being called " a man af- 
ter God's own heart." And yet he was guilty of some 
of the most heinous social offences on record. And 
this is not a solitary instance. Your own observation, 
perhaps, might furnish some sad examples of this tre- 
mendous error. Some of the most devout men that 
ever I have known — I say not that they were hypo- 
crites — men, as I believe, of sincere though erring pi- 
ety and prayer, were, in their social relations, some of 
the worst men that I ever knew. What does the whole 
history of religion, Pagan, Popish and Protestant, more 
clearly show, than this exposure ? Men have worship- 
ped God, and, at the same time, hated, persecuted, cast 
out, crushed and destroyed their fellow-men. It was 
against this error that an apostle set himself, when he 
said, "he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, 
how doth he love God whom he hath not seen !" 

For the improvement of society, then, we want a 
religion of society. We want a religion that comes 
home to the heart in all its affections ; that touches 
all the relations of husbands and wives, parents and 



232 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES 

children, brothers and sisters, friends and associates. 
We want a religion for business and for amusement, 
for public office and private duty, for every social act 
that a man can perform — whether he gives his suffrage, 
or decides questions in a court of justice, or dispenses 
wealth in hospitality, or sits at the frugal board of 
humble poverty. We want a religion of kindness, 
and gentleness, and generosity, and candor, and mod- 
esty, and forbearance, and integrity, and self-respect, 
and mutual respect. 

And let me add for my own defence, that we want 
a religion that will speak of all these things. I know 
very well, that some of the topics which I am discus- 
sing in this series of discourses, have fallen upon ears 
quite unaccustomed to hear such things from the pul- 
pit. I know that some persons will consider many of 
these matters as having nothing to do with religion, 
and quite out of place in the pulpit. Most earnestly 
do I protest against this conclusion. What was the 
example of the great Master I Did he show any of 
this modern fastidiousness about preaching? How 
free and natural and various was his manner L how 
unrestrained his discourse ! Though delivering words 
of inspiration, which were to be recorded for the in- 
struction of all ages, though constantly engaged in the 
highest mission ever fulfilled on earth, though sur- 
rounded by the watchful eyes of jealous and formal 
Pharisees, yet there was no staid or affected solemnity 
in his discourse ; he addressed himself to every case, 
availed himself of every incident around him; the 
homes of Judea rise before us as we read him ; her 
rulers, her judges, her political condition* her social 
state, all have a place in his teachings and warnings ; 



OF SOCIETY. 233 

there was not a topic within the range of moral influ- 
ence to which he did not freely apply himself. Upon 
the authority of that great example, I claim a right here, 
in the Church of Christ, to speak of every thing that af- 
fects the moral, the vital welfare of the people. I have a 
contest here — with error, with sin and misery. I do not 
want any technical system of theology to tell me what 
they are. I know what they are. If I had never heard of 
any creed or system, I should just as well know what sin 
and misery are. I know what they are, and where they 
are. I see them, I feel them, all around me. And so 
seeing and feeling, I must have liberty to speak to 
them — to go where they are — to go wherever a free 
discourse upon them, will carry me ; without stopping 
to inquire whether it is beyond the artificial pale of 
what is called a sermon. You may call the commu- 
nication by whatsoever name it pleases you to char- 
acterize it. Say, if you choose, that it is not a sermon ; 
call it an oration, a speech, an address ; but if it an- 
swers its purpose, if it opens to you a wider range of 
duties, if it spreads the feeling of conscience over a 
larger field of life, I shall be satisfied. That heavy 
and dull word, sermon — with a thousand formal and 
lifeless pictures of association, stamped upon it — is, I 
fear, a shackle to many preachers — and a stone of 
stumbling to many hearers — and such an one as pre- 
vents many from hearing at all. Let it be a free, nat- 
ural, manly address to the people, on their most vital 
interests ; and it would be a different thing — different to 
many hearers — and very different with many preachers. 
And such is the proper office of preaching. It is 
a simple address to the people, and upon their most 
vital interests. And in saying this, in defending the 
20* 



234 THE CONSERVATIVE PRINCIPLES, &C. 

position which I now take, I am not wandering at all 
from the leading subject on which I am engaged — the 
influence of religion upon our social and national wel- 
fare. This is precisely what we want — that the 
preacher should come out from his set forms, his tech- 
nical themes and monotonous tones, and speak freely 
of every thing — of every thing that morally concerns 
the people, as if he spoke for his life, or for the life of 
his friend. And it is for more than life that he speaks — 
for the welfare of a whole mighty people, and of un- 
born generations. For that welfare of the people 
never did, and never can, depend upon any thing but 
its virtue and piety. This is the only hope of future 
times. Yes, the presence of God must be among us — 
that pillar of cloud and pillar of fire must accompany 
the march of coming generations, or they will wander, 
and be lost — like the nations that have ceased to be. 

My friends, our work on earth will soon be done. 
That mighty procession, ere long, will pass by our 
graves. What matter is it that we shall sleep in the 
dust, if our work is done and well done ; if we have 
helped to raise up in those that come after us, a mighty 
host of the intelligent,' the virtuous, the happy and free ! 
This secured — and I see, in prospect, a land of peace 
and prosperity, a land of churches, and temples of 
science, and towers of strength ; and the progress 
of the coming generations shows like a glorious tri- 
umph. Fair flowers shall be strewed in their path ; 
bright omens shall cheer them on ; they shall fulfil the 
prayers of the pious dead ; they shall reward the 
tears and blood of martyred patriots ; they shall ac- 
complish the hopes of abased, broken, and prostrate 
humanity! 



233 



DISCOURSE X 



ON WAR. 



ECCLESIASTES IX. 18. Wisdom is better than weap- 
ons OF WAR. 

My subject this evening is war ; and my purpose 
is to consider it as an immense social evil, and one 
which the rising spirit of modern society is likely to 
control. The connection between the two subjects is 
too obvious to be insisted on. But the system of war 
is connected with the great interests of society, in one 
way which, though less obvious, is, perhaps, more im- 
portant than any other — I mean by the accumulation 
of national debts. War not only consumes the pres- 
ent possessions of mankind, but it uses up in advance, 
the property of future generations ; it lays a burthen 
of taxes upon ages to come. How great this bur- 
then is, and in how many ways it presses upon the so- 
cial happiness and improvement of the world, are sub- 
jects, I think, which have not yet been sufficiently con- 
sidered. 

But before I enter upon the general subject of the 
social evils produced by war, let me undertake briefly 
to state the ground I take with regard to it. 

I do not say then, in the first place, that war, under 
all circumstances, is wrong. A war, strictly defen- 



236 ON WAR. 

sive, I hold, is right. But very few wars, I believe, 
will be found to possess this character. Yet when such 
a case does occur, I do not believe that any nation is 
obliged to sit still, and see its fields ravaged and its 
homes violated, without lifting an arm in resistance. 
The right which nature gives ( us of personal self-de- 
fence, extends, I conceive, to the relations of states and 
kingdoms. If I may break the arm of a ruffian who 
lifts a club to destroy me, I may go farther, if neces- 
sary—I may break both his arms ; and so long as he 
has a limb or a sense which can aid him to inflict upon 
me the evil he meditates, I may disable it ; and thus I 
may go on defending myself, till the assailant himself 
is destroyed. So also may I defend others, whose life 
is committed to my protection. I should be a mon- 
ster and not a man, if I could sit still, and see a sav- 
age enter my doors and murder my family before my 
eyes. But that savage or that ruffian, is precisely the 
representative of an invading army. 

Nor do the Scriptures, justly construed, speak any 
other language. They command us indeed — but it is 
with the evident language of strong hyperbole — they 
command us, when smitten on one cheek, to turn the 
other, when robbed of our coat, to give our cloak, when 
compelled to go a mile, to go twain ; and, in fine, not 
resist evil, but to return good for evil ; the sum of 
which is, that we are not to retaliate evil. No reason- 
able person can suppose it to be literally meant, that 
we are to resist not at all ; that when a rude assailant 
thrusts his hand in our face, we should not endeavor to 
put it aside ; nay, that we should help him and give him 
every facility, to work his brutal will upon us. Angry 
retaliation is forbidden, not mild and manly self-de- 



ON WAR. 237 

fence ; and this distinction applies alike to public wars 
and private conflicts. 

In the next place, I do not deny, that war has some- 
times developed powerful energies and heroic virtues^ 
They furnish, indeed, but a slight compensation to hu- 
manity, for the sufferings of its slaughtered millions, 
they yield but a poor argument for war ; yet their ex- 
istence is not to be denied. The advocates of peace, 
I must think, have been too anxious to brand with dis- 
honor, every thing connected with national conflicts. 
Let mere mercenary soldiership, let the rage of brutal 
passions in a battle, let the ordinary principles of mar- 
tial ambition, be given up to their reprobation. But 
let not him who draws the sword for justice, when 
nothing else can secure justice, who offers his life for 
the freedom of a people, when no meaner sacrifice on 
its altar will suffice — let not him be denied the virtue 
of heroism. Let not him who firmly takes his station 
before an invading foe ; who stands forward, and of- 
fers his breast a shield for helpless age and infancy, 
and the sanctity of a nation's homes — let not him be 
denied the praise of magnanimity. Of those, indeed, 
who make war their trade and boast and pleasure, a 
different judgment is to be formed. 

But if a hostile army were landed on our shores, and 
I saw the youth of a peaceful village hurrying from 
their homes to prepare for the dread encounter of 
arms ; if I saw them mustering on some green spot, 
which they had trodden lightly on many a gay and 
peaceful holiday, but which they now trod with the 
step of brave and beautiful manhood — abjuring all soft- 
ness, all fondness — girding on the armor of battle — 
and sadly but sternly resolved to sacrifice that young 



238 ON WAR. 

life in its first freshness, to save their household altars 
from violation — if I saw them stand there, as they have 
stood in the valleys of Switzerland and on the plains 
of America, resolute and firm, with flushed cheek and 
unflinching brow, ready to do what God and their 
country should demand of them, I should feel that I 
looked upon a noble spectacle. And when that good- 
ly band returned from the conflict, broken, alas ! and 
shattered — loud and grateful should be a nation's wel- 
come ; and green should be the sod and wet with pa- 
triot tears, that covered 'the fallen ; and high should 
rise the monument to tell to other days, of brave men 
who feared not to die for justice and freedom ! Life 
indeed is dear, and the probation of human souls is not 
to be lightly shortened ; but we are not to forget that 
that probation may sometimes be wrought out through 
blood, and that there are things dearer than life — 
things, to which life may be well sacrificed, whether 
in labors of philanthropy, in the fires of martyrdom, or 
in the strife of battle ! 

These are qualifications which I think we ought to 
make in considering the subject of war. It is not of 
a war of self-defence, or for the defence of freedom, 
that I am about to speak ; but of war in its ordinary 
character, where the impulse is mutual national hatred 
or jealousy, and the object something far short of the 
freedom, safety or essential welfare of any people. 
The qualifications I have made, therefore, will very 
little affect the general estimate. 

To that estimate, I now proceed, and particularly 
with reference to its bearing upon the social welfare 
of mankind. 

But I wish to invite your attention, in the first place, 



ON WAR. 239 

to the peculiar, the extraordinary character of this ter- 
rific dispensation of misery. The history of the human 
race presents us with many things to wonder at, with 
things that bear the character of extravagance, absurd- 
ity, and almost of insanity; but it presents us with no- 
thing so amazing as the system of war. 

It appears, sometimes, in surveying this part of his- 
tory, as if the most settled and established principles 
were failing us ; and we are tempted to ask — Is hu- 
man happiness worth the price at which it is common- 
ly estimated ? Is it, in fact, worth any thing ? 

If it is, what are we to think of a vast and porten- 
tous science and system ordained for its destruction ? 
Other calamities come upon us by means that are in- 
direct and unforeseen, and often irresistible. They lie 
in wait for us, and smite us unawares ; or they follow 
us at a distance, and overtake us at an hour when we 
think not. They steal upon the path of indolence ; 
they rush upon the footsteps of improvidence ; they 
overwhelm the victim of indulgence in the very house, 
the guarded home of his pleasures. But what destroy- 
ing power, what angel of death, besides war, has gone 
forth in the sight of all men, and marked and measured 
out the field of destruction, and bared the human breast, 
shrinking, as it naturally does, from every wound — 
bared it to a shock like that of battle ? 

Other evils there are, and enough of them, to which 
the human race must submit. They lurk in the tainted 
breeze and in the most secret channels of life, in pains 
which no weapon inflicts, and in sufferings which no 
sympathy can relieve. But war is like none of these. 

And even of those calamities which men bring upon 
themselves, not one, in the treatment of it, bears any 



240 ON WAR. 

comparison with this. The cup of excess has, indeed, 
slain as many as the sword of violence. But when was 
ever a. system devised, to facilitate and extend the rav- 
ages of intemperance ? When was ever a book writ- 
ten, when did human ingenuity ever deliberately set 
itself to plan the means by which intemperance could 
kill the greatest number ; by which it could inflict a 
yet more insufferable degradation ; by which it would 
widen and deepen the tide of misery ? Nay, and even 
in those cases where mischief and misery have been 
reduced to a system and trade, the system has been 
taught, and the trade has been carried on, silently and 
secretly. Gaming-houses, and houses of yet darker 
ignominy, have been builded, it is true, and books have 
been written, to teach the desperate practice of the 
one, or to lure to the deadly haunts of the other ; but 
over all these works of darkness, a veil like that of 
midnight has been drawn, to hide them from the pub- 
lic eye. 

But there is one theatre, where death stands unveil- 
ed, and " destruction has no covering ;" where they do 
their fearful work, not only designedly but openly ; and 
with such credit, too, that that theatre is called the 
field of honor. There, men are not only destroyed in 
troops, in battalions and armies, but they are destroy- 
ed by system, and killed by science. Yes, and for this 
field, weapons are skilfully prepared, and actors are 
adroitly trained ; and that, too, at establishments which, 
even in a time of peace, cost tenfold more than all the 
universities and hospitals and beneficent asylums in 
the world. War, in fact, is among the recognized arts 
that engage the attention of mankind. But while, of 
all other arts, the design is, to save and to bless, to im- 



ON WAR. 241 

prove and to delight ; this is emphatically the art of 
destruction ; to crush and to kill, to lay waste king- 
doms, to spread havoc and distress among nations — 
this is its chosen work. Were the art brought to still 
greater perfection, to that horrible perfection indicated 
by some late experiments, and were some machinery, 
some " infernal engine" invented, by whose tremendous 
discharge a whole army might be destroyed in a mo- 
ment, success in tactics like this, might open the eyes 
of the world to the enormity of the martial principle. 
Then might war, at last, after having for ages ranged 
through the earth, desolating empires and destroying 
generations, become its own destroyer. 

But no such fortunate catastrophe has yet come. 
Still war rages, with a violence only too impotent 
either to satisfy the passions of men on the one hand, 
or, on the other, to destroy itself. If we must judge 
from the history of the last fifty years, civilization has 
not weakened its power. If it has done something to 
tame the fierceness of anger and revenge, it has more 
than balanced the account by the invention of deadlier 
engines. Europe never saw such bloody fields of bat- 
tle, as within the last fifty years. 

But let us further and more distinctly, contemplate 
the immediate evils and sufferings produced by war. 
The great difficulty about this subject is, that no such 
contemplation is likely to be given to it. Nobody 
seems to stand in the relation to it which is necessary 
to a fair and full estimate. From those engaged in 
war, blinded or absorbed by it, its true character is 
hidden ; and to those in the bosom of peace, the con- 
templation of bloody conflicts and routed armies is 
scarcely more affecting, than to behold the dashing 
21 



242 ON WAR. 

clouds and broken fragments of a dispersing storm in 
the sky ; it is far off, and belongs to another element. 
But let a man bring home to him one single instance 
from that awful and uncounted aggregate of horrors, 
and how can he be unmoved by it! Death! come 
when and where it may, be it on the bed of down, or 
on the supporting bosom of affection — it is an awful 
visitation. The agonies and shudderings of nature 
proclaim it to be the great trial-hour of human desti- 
ny. But that hour, in the hot assault, or amidst the 
lingering agonies of the battle-field, or where the groans 
of the crowded hospital are its harbingers — how does 
it come ? No pillow of down, no supporting arms are 
there, to receive the victim ; no kind voice speaks to 
him ; no noiseless step of affection approaches, nor 
looks of love hang over him, like a pitying angel's coun- 
tenance ; but he goes down — man as he is, with all a 
man's sensibility, it may be — with all a man's ties to 
earthly home and love — he goes down amidst groans 
and execrations and horrors, darker than the shadow 
of death that is passing over him. This is but one 
death, such as war visits upon the human race, and yet 
it would not be in human nature actually to witness 
one such instance, without the most agonizing desire 
to afford relief. But now what facts are those, which 
the history of war unfolds to us ! The single campaign 
of Bonaparte in Russia, carried death, and such death, 
not to one thousand, nor to five thousand, nor to fifty 
thousand, but to five hundred thousand human beings. 
Alexander and Cesar, it is computed, caused, each of 
them, the death of two millions of the human race ; 
and the wars of Bonaparte bring up the whole num- 
ber of victims sacrificed to the ambition of three 



ON WAR. 243 

men, to six millions ! Let us look at it. Six millions 
of human beings ! — the aged, the young, the manly and 
strong, the fair and lovely, the imploring mother, the 
innocent child — and death, dealt to each one, without 
discrimination and without mercy ! Six millions !— a 
number equal to half the population of this whole coun- 
try. Strike off, then, half of the territory and people 
of this fair and happy land, and suppose them to be 
sacrificed one by one, their possessions, their goods and 
their lives, with every species of cruelty and insult, and 
with the perpetration of every nameless horror ; and 
to whom sacrificed ? To but three ministers in the 
dark kingdom of war ! But this is only an item, a sin- 
gle passage in the history of its fearful dominion. 
There have been in Christendom, since the reign of 
Constantine, nearly three hundred wars!* What a 
mass of calamities, of rapine and violence, of crime 
and misery, is included within the brief description of 
these three words — what waste of the treasures of na- 
tions, what wo in the abodes of millions, it passes all 
human power to calculate. But all this, nevertheless, 
has been experienced, though it cannot be calculated 
or imagined. Human hearts have felt it all. Not one 
drop of this ocean of ills, but has fallen, a burning drop, 
upon nerves and fibres that have quivered with agony 
at its touch. Fourteen centuries of war, and thous- 
ands of bloody battles, recorded in that brief descrip- 
tion, are but the record of human, of individual sorrows 
and tears and groans. 

I wish it were possible for me to make the case 
more apparent and palpable. That beings, possessed 

* See Third Report of the Committee of Inquiry instituted 
by the Massachusetts Peace Society, 



244 oiv war. 

with the most exquisite sensibility to grief and pain, 
should be able to look on, calmly or patiently, while 
such things are done and suffered, only proves that 
the reality of the evil is lost to them in its vastness. 
Any wound inflicted in our sight, any pain depicted in 
the countenance of another, " any annoyance" in any 
" precious sense," fills us with solicitude and sympathy. 
The mother, in the midnight hour, steals to the couch 
of her child, if but a harder breathing invade " the in- 
nocent sleep." The child hangs over the couch of in- 
firm and reverend age, with a filial piety that counts 
every pain, as an holy thing. The friend sits through 
the live-long night, with watchful eye and ear, to anti- 
cipate the slightest want of a sick and suffering asso- 
ciate. These are but the dictates of humanity. Where 
are those dictates, when a system is fostered and hon- 
ored in the world, which tears shrieking children from 
their arms to be murdered by a brutal soldiery, which 
tramples the aged and venerable head beneath the feet 
of lawless strangers, and from whose wide theatre are 
for ever rising groans that are unpitied, and cries that 
bring no aid. " On one side," says an eye-witness to 
the horrors of the sack of Moscow, in 1812, "on one 
side, we saw a son carrying a sick father ; on the oth- 
er, women who poured the torrent of their tears on the 
infants whom they clasped in their arms. Old men 
overwhelmed by grief still more than by years, weep- 
ing for the ruin of their couutry, lay down to die, near 
the houses where they were born. No respect was 
paid to the nobility of blood, to the innocence of youth, 
or to the tears of beauty."*—" It is impossible," says 
another eye-witness, one who saw the wounded in the 

* Labaume, p. 209 and 213, 



ON WAR. 245 

hospitals after the battle of Waterloo, " it is impossible 
to conceive of their sufferings. Turn which way I 
might, I encountered every form of entreaty from those, 
whose condition left no need of words, to stir compas- 
sion, I know not," he says, " what notions my feeling 
countrymen have of thirty thousand wounded men, 
thrown into a town and its environs. They still their 
compassionate emotions, by subscriptions ; but what 
avails this to those, who would exchange gold for a bit 
of rag to bind up their smarting wounds. My heart 
sickens at the contemplation," he says in conclusion, 
" and I am obliged to turn away from this picture of 
human misery, caused by pride, ambition, a love of 
military glory, and the folly of mankind in paying ado- 
ration to their destroyers. Would not angels weep 
at such a scene as this ? But is this all ? Ah ! no. 
Each of these dead or wounded soldiers had a mother, 
who had watched over his cradle, and had attended 
him in his sickness, and shed over him the tears of ma- 
ternal solicitude. Many had wives, and lovers, to 
whom they were dearer than the light of the sun. Ma- 
ny had children, who looked to them for support and 
protection. We may rationally suppose, that for every 
man who was killed or wounded in this deadly con- 
flict, the hearts of at least ten persons — parents, wives, 
children, brothers and sisters — were lacerated. Oh ! 
what hecatombs of sacrifices on the bloody altar of 
Moloch ! How long will mankind continue to be acces- 
sary to such crimes, by bestowing praises upon their per- 
petrators ! How long will it be, ere every human being 
will deem it his imperious and solemn duty, to dissemi- 
nate the principles of Peace and extend her empire '"* 
* Charles Bell. 



246 ON WAR. 

But let us pass now from immediate evils to those 
which, although more remote, are not less destructive 
to the welfare of society. 

In contemplating the progress of civilization, there 
is one fact, which deserves more attention, I appre- 
hend, than it has yet received ; and that is the severi- 
ty of human labor. The advancement of society from 
a state of barbarism is, of course, marked by grow- 
ing and more regular industry. To a certain extent, 
this is, doubtless, natural, and accordant with the de- 
signs of Providence and the general welfare of men. 
But there is a point beyond which labor is not good 
and ought not to be necessary ; and that the condition 
of multitudes, both in Europe and America, is far be- 
yond this point, cannot, I think, be doubted. It has 
been maintained, on a careful calculation, that all the 
conveniences of civilized life might be produced, if so- 
ciety would divide the labor equally among its mem- 
bers, by each individual being employed in labor two 
hours during the day.* I will not undertake to say 
whether this estimate is correct ; but I am certain that 
ten, twelve and fourteen hours, each day, of hard work, 
cannot be necessary to the proper ends of society, in 
its natural and healthful state. Yet this is what is re- 
quired of the mass not only of adult laborers, but of 
their children too, in many cases, barely to support 
life. The effects, especially, in the manufacturing dis- 
tricts of Europe, are most deplorable. The evidence 
on this point, before the British parliament, three or 
four years since, presented a picture of desolating and 
crushing toil, and especially of children, pale, emacia- 

* Goodwin's Political Justice. 



ON WAR. 247 

ted, trembling from exhaustion, and bereft of every 
trait of childhood, and almost of humanity, that was 
enough to make the heart sick with the contemplation ; 
and all the mitigation that the wisdom and generosity 
of a great people could devise for these helpless and 
miserable beings, cursed — I had almost said — cursed 
with existence, was, that they should not be compelled 
under the age of sixteen, to work more than ten hours 
a day. But the evil of excessive toil, is not confined 
to the manufactories. No one can travel through the 
agricultural districts of Europe generally, without see- 
ing that it is not only in " the sweat of his brow," but 
in the sadness of his brow, that man earns his bread. 
The pressure is, doubtless, lighter in this country, but 
still, I believe, it is too, hard. I concern myself here 
with no questions about combinations of laborers, to 
diminish the hours of work ; I do not undertake to say, 
what may be necessary or right, in the existing state 
of things ; but speaking in general, of what I conceive 
to be the intentions of Providence and the capacities 
of man, I aver with confidence, that there is more hard 
labor in this country, than consists with the true wek 
fare and improvement of society. 

If this could be doubted, it would be sufficient to say, 
and this is the point to which I wish to come, that there 
are causes in operation enhancing human toil, which 
are immense, which are unnatural, and which never 
ought to have existed. Passing by others* my busi- 
ness now is, to consider a single cause — the burthen 
of debt, that is to say, which past wars have accumu- 
lated upon the present generation, and upon many, we 
may add, that are to come after it. 

War subtracts from the amount of productive laboi\ 



248 ON WAR. 

the strength of all who are engaged in its actual ser- 
vice, and of all who are engaged in providing arms 
and munitions for it. In barbarous ages, when na- 
tions fought out their own battles and so finished the 
account, this was only a loss to the nation and to the 
w r orld, for the time being. But in process of time, men. 
found that they could not fight enough on their own 
account, and they brought in the resources of after 
times to assist therm It was left for the progress of 
civilization, to fall upon the expedient of creating na- 
tional debts ; that is, of hiring out the labor of posteri- 
ty to pay the price of blood. Some idea of the ex- 
tent of this tremendous assessment, may be formed 
from a single item. The wars which grew out of the 
French Revolution, commencing in 1793 and ending 
in 1815, cost Great Britain alone, eleven hundred mil- 
lions of pounds sterling ;* and a large proportion of 
this stupendous amount now exists in the form of a 
national debt, and the interest of it is annually levied 
upon the entire industry of the kingdom. In addition 
to this, England and all Europe are supporting im- 
mense standing armies. Go where you will,, and the 
soldier presents himself — a cormorant that is eating up 
the substance of the land, and adding nothing to its re- 
sources. There he stands, idly leaning against some 
bastion or gate-way, while the farmer in the neighbor- 
ing field, must redouble his labors to support him. I 
complain not of the soldier, who is, after all, the most 
miserable of these parties ; insomuch, that I have 
heard it stated, as the opinion of a distinguished mili- 
tary commander in Europe, that war itself is not so 

* Lowe's Present State of England., 



ON WAR. 249 

fatal to life as peace — that ennui destroys more men 
than the sword ; I do not complain, then, of the sol- 
dier who is the creature of the state ; I do not com- 
plain of the state which is, perhaps, obliged thus to 
stand on its defence ; but I charge the system, the war- 
system, which taxes and tasks the industry of one part 
of the world for the purpose of destroying the other, 
with stupendous injustice and folly. 

Let us dwell a moment longer, on the extent and 
nature of this taxation. 

War appears to be far off from us ; and it is far off 
from most men ; for the field of actual military oper- 
ations, in almost any country, is comparatively small. 
A battle is fought at a distance, and the groan that it 
sends through the world soon dies away ; and men 
think of it no more, but as a matter of history — a 
matter with which they have no concern. They for- 
get that the war, the battle, comes to them in another 
shape, in the form of burthensome imposts ; that it 
comes and writes its account on every threshold, and 
on every table whether rich or poor, in the civilized 
world. For every article, whether of convenience or 
luxury, which is produced in Europe, the consumer, 
of whatever country, is obliged not only to remuner- 
ate the labor employed upon it, but to pay a heavy 
additional per cent in taxes ; and far the largest por- 
tion of these taxes are levied by the military system. 
The language of every military government, not only 
to its own citizens, but to all the world is this ; " you 
must not only pay the industrious among us, but you 
must help to support our idle and expensive soldiery ;" 
that is to say, " you must work harder, because we 
have a great many among us who do not work, and 



250 ON WAR. 

then, too, they must have arms and munitions and for- 
tifications, which is another heavy item in the account." 
" Does this taxation do us any good ?" the world asks. 
And the answer is, " none at all." It contributes not 
to the manufacture of any necessaries or comforts or 
luxuries of life, but only to the fabrication of warlike 
weapons — of "cold and bare steel" — of that which 
gives you nothing to eat nor to drink, nor to wear, nor 
to employ for any useful purpose. And again, it con- 
tributes nothing to the support of any useful class — of 
learned men, or instructors of the people, or artists to 
delight them ; but only to the training of an order of 
men, who for your pains may, any day, be turned upon 
you like tigers and bloodhounds, to rend and tear you 
in pieces. And now look at the pressure of this sys- 
tem. It is a burthen upon every thing to which men 
can attach value. It is a tax upon all the possessions 
and pleasures of life, upon food and raiment, upon 
every element of nature, upon the very light of heav- 
en. It presses upon you, and upon me. But for this, 
our labors might contribute in much greater measure 
to our comfort and independence ; in a measure very 
seriously and sensibly affecting the happiness of our 
lives. It is a burthen which presses heavily on the 
rich ; it is a burthen which crushes the poor. It is 
urging universal toil to excess ; it is grinding thousands 
and millions down to the dust : and in this way* per- 
haps, it has occasioned more of the extraordinary in- 
temperance of modern times, than any other cause, 
If this tax w r ere direct and specific, if it were not cov- 
ered up under the names of excise and impost and 
revenue ; if it were, in so many words, a war-tax, it 
would speak a language to which the world could not 



ON WAR. 251 

be indifferent. It would be a voice of blood crying 
from the earth and air, from sea and land, to which 
men could not close their ears. 

But consider for one moment longer, I beseech you, 
the nature of this assessment. In the name of heaven, 
I solemnly ask, what are its conditions ? What is the 
tenor of the bond, that is to settle up the account of an 
expensive war ? A mighty debt is incurred ; and it 
presses upon the already hard and exhausting labor of 
thousands and ten thousands, with vexatious and wear- 
ing importunity. What is the valuable consideration 
which is to reconcile to their lot, the worn and weary 
victims of this toil and poverty ? What is the language 
to them of the war-system ? It says to them — this is 
what it says — " I will raze to the ground your pleasant 
habitations ; I will slay your sons in battle ; I will give 
up your daughters to accursed violation ; I will spare 
no store of your gains, no treasure of your hearts, no 
delight of your eyes ; and when I have done all this, 
you shall pay me for what I have done ; and to satis- 
fy the debt, you shall come under bondage to me, for 
a portion of every day, during the remainder of your 
lives. Nay, and more than this shall you give ; more 
than the toil of your weary limbs and the sweat of your 
aching brow. The light from your window, and the 
pottage from your cold hearth ; the sorrow of your 
suffering wives and children, the tears of your half- 
clad and starving families, shall you give to pay the 
mighty debt." 

It is sometimes asked, whether wars can ever be 
done away. I would ask in return, if the very argu- 
ment I have now used does not show that they can, 
and must, and shall be done away. 



£52 ON .WAR. 

There is, I know, a vague and dreamy notion pos* 
sessing some minds, that war, somehow or other, is a 
matter of necessity, that it results from the ordination 
of nature, that the law of force is the law of the whole 
creation, and must be submitted to. Among animals, 
they say,, the stronger destroys the weaker, and man 
but conforms to the principle. But the instance of 
animal natures comes far short of supporting this argu- 
ment. The animal destroys when and where, he has 
need of food ; and when he destroys without this mo- 
tive, he is accounted mad. But what should we think, 
if the animals of one whole country were banded in 
battle array against those of another? The world 
would stand aghast at such madness, seizing the tribes 
of irrational creatures. And yet, what in them, would 
be a horrible madness, is, in man, honor, courage, skill ; 
nay more, and is held to be among the necessary and 
irresistible tendencies of his nature. 

" But," it may be said, " whether natural and neces- 
sary or not, war has always existed ; it has been in 
the world, since the creation ; it has become the habit 
of the world ; and it cannot be done away. There 
will always be national controversies ; there will al- 
ways be selfish and vindictive passions at work in the 
human breast ; and, in short, while man is man, there 
will always be war." 

Do we live in an age, when the antiquity of an evil 
is held to be a good argument for its perpetuity ? Ar- 
bitrary rule, despotism, in one form or another, is as 
old as the world. The slave-trade has existed for 
ages. The most ancient histories, are histories of ig- 
norance and barbarism. Does the world sit down, 
and quietly acquiesce in the conclusion that these 



ON WAR. 253 

things must exist for ever ? Civilization itself must 
have been held in check, by such a fatal concession to 
antiquity. 

Civilization is advancing ; it has as yet, by no means, 
reached its limit. Is not this a sufficient answer to the 
whole argument ? One barbarous custom after anoth- 
er has yielded to the progress of knowledge ; why 
may not war, like the tournament and the ordeal by 
fire, cease to engage the respect of mankind ? The 
habits of the world are not too strong to be contro- 
verted and corrected. But there is another point on 
which I intended especially to insist. There is one 
habit of the world, signalizing more than any other the 
present age, which, if it continues to gain strength, is 
almost certain to effect, sooner or later, the abolition 
of war. And that is the habit, which the people of 
all civilized countries are now acquiring, of looking so- 
berly and steadfastly to their own real interests. Let 
them look at these, and resolutely pursue them, and 
they must ere long banish the horrible custom which, 
every century, costs the lives of millions, and brings 
distress and anguish upon millions more. War may 
be the interest of ambitious rulers, but it never can be 
the interest of the body of the people. 

In connection with this point, let it be distinctly con- 
sidered, that public opinion is becoming the grand and 
paramount law of nations. It has always had great 
force. It has had great force even in the most des- 
potic states. But what distinguishes the present crisis 
is, that public opinion is becoming the absolute and 
universal law. The aim of all liberal minds, every 
where, is to make government the very expression of 
an enlightened public opinion. So it ought to be. 

22 



254 ON WAR. 

They ought to be represented by a government, their 
feelings and wishes ought to be respected, whose in- 
terests, whose life and property and happiness, are 
intrusted to that government to be benefited or injured 
by it. They ought to judge, their opinion ought to 
prevail, who are themselves the parties interested. But, 
now, what is public opinion ? Not the opinion of ru- 
lers, not the opinion of military men, nor the opinion 
of a few whose interest it might be, or rather who 
might think it their interest, to plunge a nation into 
war ; but it is the collected opinion of the whole mass 
of a people ; it is an opinion to which both sexes con- 
tribute an influence, which springs from all the rela- 
tions and endearments of society ; it is an opinion, 
whose dwelling is the happy home, whose altar is the 
domestic hearth-stone. And is it possible, when this 
public opinion arrives at its proper ascendancy, that 
nations shall wish to lay open their peaceful villages 
and their happy homes to the invasion of fire and 
sword, and all the horrors of war ? Is it possible, that 
they will choose to suffer all this to gratify an insane, 
unnatural and merciless ambition — which builds itself 
up upon their destruction ; whose monuments are 
heaps of the slain ; whose tower of pride is built of 
human bones, and cemented with the blood of breth- 
ren and the tears of widows and orphans ; whose 
shrine of glory, like that of Moloch, for ever demands 
human — none but human victims? Can men, when 
once they begin to think, bear all this, and above all 
can they bear it, when they see that it answers no use- 
ful purpose, when they find that negociation is just as 
necessary after the conflict as it was before, when they 
find that nothing is gained for abstract justice, and 



ON WAR. 255 

every thing is lost to social life, to vital prosperity, to 
domestic happiness. Look at two nations dwelling 
in amity with each other ; each land filled with cities 
and temples, with smiling villages and peaceful dwell- 
ings, the homes of centuries. Behold the thousand 
paths of industry and enjoyment, whether upon the 
hill-side or upon the gliding river's bosom, thronged 
with the prosperous and happy. Hear the song of the 
reaper in the harvest-field answering joyously to the 
call of the herdsman in the pasture ; and if a sigh 
ariseth by the way-side, mark the ready ear of the kind 
and gentle to listen to it. Survey, in short, the lot, 
and be it, that it is the mingled lot of life, joyous or 
sad, but ever dear and holy. Trace, in fine, the in- 
visible bond of sympathy, that binds home to home 
and heart to heart, and gaze upon the broad land and 
its many shores, where the light of Peace falls upon 
every field and every wave to hallow it, as it were, with 
the serenest and the sweetest smile of heaven. Now, 
I ask, if, for a controversy about a tract of land, or a 
contested right in a fishery, or an affront offered to an 
ambassador, the people of these countries — not their 
rulers as independent of them — but if the people, ex- 
pressing their will through governments of their own 
choice, can be disposed to enter into war ; to drive the 
ploughshare of ruin, through all these peaceful and 
happy scenes ; to turn the joyous songs of ten thous- 
and dwellings into sighing and wailing ; to plant the 
bloody step on every green turf, and to thrust the viola- 
ting hand into the retreats of every domestic sanctuary. 
It cannot be. Men cannot be for ever so insane, as to 
treat their dearest interests in this manner. At any 
rate, if the tendencies of public sentiment, at this day, 



256 OK WAR. 

hold out any warrant, if the hopes of philanthropy and 
piety are not mere illusions, if the ways of God's prov- 
idence are not darkened with a cloud that is never to 
clear up, the time must come, the time will come, when 
wars will cease. 

As certainly as popular governments are to rise in 
the world, wars are to decline, And they are to rise : 
I say not in what form, but in some form by which 
they shall express the will of the people. If there 
ever was a tendency in human affairs, the tendency of 
all opinion, of all moral action, of all instruments and 
agencies in the world, is to this result. And when it 
is obtained, it may be relied on for the establishment 
of some new and more rational mode of settling na- 
tional controversies. I say not what it may be in form. 
It may be by arbitration, by resorting to umpires, or by 
creating a Court of Nations. But whatever be the 
mode, I look to an intelligent and moral public opinion 
for the fulfilment of that great prophecy, that men 
" shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their 
spears into pruning-hooks, that nation shall not lift up 
sword against nation, and they shall learn war no 



257 



DISCOURSE XI 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 



PROVERBS XIV. 34. Righteousness exalteth a nation, 

BCT SIN IS A REPROACH TO ANY PEOPLE. 

There is a branch of morality, seldom discussed in 
the pulpit, too seldom discussed out of it, which I shall 
propose for your consideration this evening ; it is po- 
litical morality. It will not be thought, I trust, that 
any apology is due from the pulpit for taking up this 
subject. If the duty which one man owes to another, 
then the duty which each man owes to a whole coun- 
try, is worthy of the most religious consideration : and 
the more so, because it is not only an important but a 
neglected subject. 

Indeed, one is tempted to ask — scarcely with irony — 
is there any such subject, any such thing, as political 
morality ? There is a law of nations, binding them to 
perform certain duties to each other. There is a law 
of the land, binding upon the citizens of each particu- 
lar nation. There is a law of morality, penetrating 
deeper into the life and heart, than judicial law can 
go. But is there any thing of this, or any thing like 
this, applicable to politics? On the contrary, are 
not political relations entirely severed from the ob- 
ligations of conscience ? Into almost every part of a 
22* 



258 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

man's life conscience may look, ay, and with an eye of 
authority ; but with the part which he acts as a poli- 
tician, is it not true, that conscience has no business 
whatever ? As a man, he is bound to be a good man ; 
and in that character, he is amenable to the judgment 
of God. As a man, he is bound to be honest, candid, 
high-minded and true ; but would it not be quite pre- 
posterous to demand this of him, as a president, a gov- 
ernor, a diplomatist, a party-man, an opposition man ? 
In a party conclave, you can easily conceive that ques- 
tions may be discussed on grounds of policy ; but 
would it not be quite surprising, if not ridiculous, for a 
man to get up and say, " is this right ? — is it conscien- 
tious ? — is it a high-minded course ?" Would not the 
look of silent astonishment, in such a conclave say, as 
plainly as any thing can say — " that is another question V 
" Speak not evil one of another," is a holy precept ; but 
can it be that it has any relation to newspapers ? Es- 
pecially in a warm party contest, as in a battle, are not 
all laws of mutual forbearance and kindness, abroga- 
ted ; and is not the only consideration then, how to 
strike down an adversary ? May not a man do things 
and avow principles then, which would disgrace him 
in the ordinary walks of life ? May he not violate the 
law, by bringing minors and non-residents to vote ? 
May he not give and take bribes ? Nay, may he not 
lift his hand to heaven, and perjure himself in such a 
cause ? In fine, will not the end sanctify the means ? 
It is a very bad principle every where else ; but will 
it not do in politics ? 

The great modern master of dramatic representa- 
tion shows his nice observation of human nature, when 
in a case of false swearing, he makes a man say, " I 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 259 

will swear to any thing : all is fair when it comes to an 
oath ad litem? That technical, and to him, unmean- 
ing phrase, is probably introduced by the writer, as 
serving the purpose of a salvo to his conscience ; as 
helping to blind him to the iniquity of the transaction. 
And so it is with the technical word, politics. And 
men say, or act as if they said, " all is fair when it 
comes to politics." Even in case of the oath, where- 
with a man perjures himself at the ballot — what is it, 
that he says to himself, or that the partisan tempter, 
says to him ? " Oh ! it is nothing but an electioneering 
oath !" In other words, all is fair when it comes to 
politics. 

A part of the reason here involved, doubtless — that 
is to say, a part of the reason why politics possess this 
morally loose character, lies in the vagueness of the 
term. The words, trade, bargain — or the words, char- 
ity, philanthropy — have a definite meaning affixed to 
them. But men cannot so readily tell what they mean 
by the word, politics ; and to this subject, therefore, it 
is less easy to apply the principle, of morality. 

Another reason, having a similar tendency to blind 
the mind to the necessary moral discriminations in po- 
litics, is to be found in the unusual modes and forms 
devised, for the expression of public opinion. If a 
man is false to his thought, when he professes to con- 
vey his thought in conversation, he at once feels that 
he is dishonest, He sees at once the contradiction be- 
tween what he says and what he thinks. But when 
he gives his vote at the ballot-box, or causes it to be 
recorded in a legislative assembly, it is comparatively 
an artificial act, and he does not so clearly perceive its 
character and relations. He does, indeed, in that act, 



260 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

profess to declare an opinion — he does profess to de- 
clare his mind — but what is it, inform, to him? It is a 
vote, not an averment ; it is saying, " yea" or " nay" 
not saying, " I believe," or " I do not believe," 

There is another consideration to be stated, of the 
same general and dangerous tendency. The action of 
men in masses always lessens the sense of individual 
responsibility. Thus, a mob will do things, which no 
individual of that mob would ever think of doing alone : 
and this, not because he could not do it alone ; for 
any man can break windows, or shoot down his ad- 
versary in the streets ; the truth is, the man loses in 
the crowd the sense of personal responsibility. And 
so it is with political combinations. A private man, a 
merchant or a lawyer, would feel degraded, if he should 
offer a bribe to induce his neighbor to express a favor- 
able opinion of him personally, or, if he should threat- 
en him with a loss of business for failing to do so ; but 
he will resort to either of these methods, for procuring 
the same expression of opinion towards some public 
man — some politician, or party.-m.an. 

I have thus been lead, briefly to state some of the 
causes of that separation of morality from politics, 
which obtains to a fearful extent in the public mind. 
No more than a bare statement of them is necessary 
to show, that they lack all proper grounds of justifica- 
tion for the result which they have produced. The 
way is open, therefore, for an attempt to settle some 
principles in the science of political morality. 

Political morality may be considered in relation, 
first, to particular actions which it enjoins or forbids, 
and secondly, to the general principles which it sanc- 
tions or disclaims. 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY, 261 

Under the first head is to be ranked, the duty of giv- 
ing a vote at the elections. I hold, that it is the duty 
of every legally qualified person in the country to vote. 
And let it not be thought, that this point is any ways 
well settled in the public mind. Expedient it may 
have been thought, in some party emergency, that eve- 
ry citizen should vote ; and at such a crisis, that expe- 
diency may have been much talked of ; but all this is 
a very different thing from a sense of duty, which per- 
vades all times. The emergency passes, and this shal- 
low feeling of expediency passes away with it. It is 
the bond of duty to which I appeal. 

There are reasons for it, founded in the very nature 
and meaning of the action. Suffrage is the very basis of 
our government. The government in this country is 
committed to the whole people. Every man has a share 
in it. Every man exerts an influence upon it, either by 
his action or by his neglect. Can this be a case, then, 
in which a man is allowed to stand neutral ? 

In theory, the government here represents the whole 
people. The practice should conform to that theory. 
To every man among us, a certain political trust is 
committed. Every man should quit himself of that 
trust. If the administration of our affairs is corrupt 
or incompetent, the people is to blame — the whole peo- 
ple. The blame is to be shared among them all. But 
especially does it attach to those who say that the gov- 
ernment is bad, and will do nothing to make it better. 
" Why stand ye idle, all the day V may it well be said 
to such. Why stand ye idle all the election-day? 
When, on such a day, ye see the thousand and the mil- 
lion contributions that are made to swell the mighty 
stream of public opinion and government, why stand 



202 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

ye idly gazing upon it, as if it did not concern you f 
As well might ye stand idly gazing upon the streams 
collecting in the hills above your dwelling, which at 
any moment may come down, and sweep its founda- 
tions from beneath you. 

If it be said that that is unlikely to happen, then let 
me say in turn, and to keep the figure for a moment, 
that those streams ivill come down, either to fertilize 
or to waste the land ; and they shall be the power, ei- 
ther good or bad, to grind the very corn that feeds 
your families and your neighborhoods. If government 
does not make the corn grow, yet it touches every thing 
that affects its value — labor, price, manufacture — yes, 
it touches the very staff of life ; and that by many 
means, by many statutes, besides " corn-laws." Gov- 
ernment, then, is something that comes near to us. 
We greatly err, if we suppose, as many seem to do, 
that it is something factitious and far off. It comes 
near to us — to our warehouses and our firesides, to 
our granaries and our kneading-troughs. Revenues 
and tariffs, banking-laws and the monetary system — 
these terms may sound like a strange speech to the 
mass of the people ; but they represent, and they vi- 
tally affect, their daily and home-bred interests. 

And these interests, I say again, are committed to 
the whole people. They are directly affected by le- 
gislation certainly ; and legislation comes from the 
whole people. It is not with us as if our rulers were 
hereditary. Then we might fold our arms, and say, 
" it is none of our concern." And why ? Because in 
that case, we should not be the governors. But now 
we are the governors of the country. And if any por- 
tion of us — if, for instance, a tenth part of our popula- 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 263 

tion refuse to give due attention to this duty, it is as if 
the chosen governors of the country should withhold 
a tenth part of the talent or of the time due to their 
( ffice. 

I do not demand of any one, that he should be an 
eager and noisy politician. I only demand that he 
should vote ; that he should, no matter how quietly, 
thus express his interest and take his share in the com- 
mon weal — thus assume, what he professes to prize so 
highly, the privilege and duty of self-government. But 
I am obliged to say, and I hardly know whether it is 
with greater mortification or the more profound con- 
cern, that the very persons among us who are most 
apt to neglect this duty, are the very persons most of 
all bound to fulfil it — I mean the rich and the educa- 
ted. It is a statement most fearful in its bearing on 
the prospects of the country, but it is true. I do not 
deny, that many of both classes are found at their posts, 
when their country calls upon them. But there are 
rich men, who are too much engrossed with their bu- 
siness to give their vote^-too much engrossed with 
gain to attend to their duty ; or who, perchance, are 
too fastidious, to expose their persons amidst the throng 
at the polls. And there are educated men, who are 
so much disgusted with party strifes, that they will 
have nothing to do with them. They give them up, 
as they scornfully say, to demagogues and brawlers. 
And so very simple are these sensible and refined per- 
sons, that they do not seem to perceive when they say 
this, that they are giving up their country to dema- 
gogues and brawlers. Yes, their country / And here 
it is, too, on the very side where it most needs sup- 
port, that its legitimate defenders on that side, are open- 



264 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

ing their ranks to the onset and the rushing crowd of 
popular ignorance and party violence. "Fools and 
blind !" — would it be said, should they be overwhelm- 
ed by that crowd — " that did not perceive that they 
too had interests at stake — that very property, that 
very repose, which they so much valued. For when 
the crowd came, what did it find ? Not good and man- 
ly citizens at their post ; but only certain money-chan- 
gers in their counting-houses, or silken loungers in 
drawing-rooms, or certain learned monks in their clois- 
ters !" I do not fear any such violent and vandal in- 
cursion of popular ignorance and passion ; and yet, if 
any thing is to overwhelm the country, it will be this. 
If there is any one thing more to be feared than any 
other — any one overshadowing peril to our political in- 
stitutions, it is, that numerical force will overbalance 
the intellectual and moral strength of the country. I 
say again, that I do not fear it — except with that fear 
which bringeth safety. I do not fear it, because I 
trust that events are teaching intelligent and educated 
men their duties ; and because I believe, that into the 
numerical force, otherwise so much to be dreaded, 
there is a constantly increasing, and will be a still lar- 
ger, infusion of intelligence.* But if it shall be other- 
wise ; if population is to outstrip education ; if num- 
bers, and not principles, are to be the watch- words and 
war-cries of party, and the governing powers of the 
state, the dreaded result is inevitable. 

In connection with this topic, there is a question of- 
ten raised concerning a certain educated class in the 

* Not in cities perhaps, from temporary causes; but in the 
country at large. 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 265 

country, to which I shall give a moment's attention. 
This question is — ought the clergy to vote ? And to 
this question, I firmly answer, yes ; always and every 
where. This is a right which they ought never to suf- 
fer to be drawn into debate. It is enough that they 
are, by public opinion, nearly disfranchised, and that 
absurdly enough, of their natural right to hold offices 
under the government.* We hear much of freedom, 
and invasions of freedom, in this country. What would 
any other respectable class of citizens say, if they were 
excluded from all active share and interest in the gov- 
ernment ? They would fill the country with their com- 
plaints, and the world would be called upon to look at 
this monstrous anomaly, in our free institutions. I 
shall be at no pains here to say, that the clergy proba- 
bly do not desire public employment. Whether they 
do or not, is not the question. I say that they have a 
right to it, as much as any other class. And the fre- 
quent language of reproach and satire heard, on every 
assumption of this right, I hold to be disgraceful to a 
free press and people. But the question now is about 
suffrage. And on this point, I maintain, that for the 
clergy to cast their vote with the rest of their fellow- 
citizens, at the elections, is not only their right, but 
their bounden duty. Nor should their congregations, 
in manly candor, ever desire to deprive them of this 
right, or to dictate to them in regard to the discharge 
of this duty. This is not a country — a republican gov- 
ernment is the last in the world, that can afford to part 
with the influence of a large and intelligent body of 
its citizens. 

* They are so by law in some of the States. 
23 



266 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

I have dwelt longer than I intended upon this first 
and foundation principle of our political morality — 
that which requires every legally qualified citizen to 
give his vote at the elections. There is another duty 
coincident with this, which is too obvious to call for 
much argument, and yet too often violated, to be pass- 
ed over in silence ; and that is the duty of giving an 
honest vote. 

Every citizen in this primary act that gives its be- 
ing and character to the government, is bound to ex- 
press his honest conviction. The vote demands the 
contribution of his mind, of his judgment, of his patri- 
otism and fidelity to the common weal. The citizen 
is the real governor. And if the elected ruler is for- 
bidden, by every just principle, to swerve from an hon- 
est purpose towards the public good, so is the ruling 
elector. And he who surrenders his judgment or con- 
science to private interest, or the mere dictation of a 
party ; he who accepts a bribe or offers one ; he who, 
in the ballot, smothers his own conviction, or attempts 
to coerce anothers, is perjured in the holiest rites with 
which he swears upon his country's altar. 

The familiarity with which certain transactions at 
the polls are spoken of — -yes, palpable infractions of 
the law with regard to the age, residence, and where 
a property qualification is required, the property of 
voters — the freedom with which parties charge these 
practices upon each other after an election — are facts 
of evil omen. And the common defence set up for 
them is, if possible, worse than the things themselves. 
The country, we are constantly told, is in danger ; 
every nerve must be strained, every means used, to 
carry certain measures; the opposite party leave no 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 267 

means, however flagitious and desperate, untried, and 
we must meet them on their own ground — must fight 
them with their own weapons. Admirable doctrine ! 
that goes around the whole circuit of parties, and lends 
a handle to each one, wherewith to push on the cu- 
mulative argument for dishonesty and intrigue ! The 
country in danger ! — and to be saved by corruption ! 
by bribery, false swearing and the violated law ! The 
nation sick and prostrate by the tampering of some ig- 
norant administration with its health and vigor — and 
how to be cured ? By the canker and the gangrene 
that are eating out its very vitals ! 

Away with such paltering and paltry arguments for 
the expedient against the right ! If it must be so, I had 
rather my country were destroyed by truth, than saved 
by falsehood. I would rather it were ruined by vir- 
tue, than redeemed by corruption. But do not the 
very terms of this statement show, that it is not so ? 
No ; " honesty is the best policy/' for man or nation, 
for individual or party. But if honesty is any where 
to be demanded or expected, it is in the first act that 
gives its character to the government — the elections. 
Admit any false principle there, and what, in consis- 
tency, can you look for, but a corrupt government ? 
Will you poison the fountain-head, and expect the 
streams to be pure ? 

I insist, then, that the elector shall be honest. He 
should no more dare to be false to his own mind, false 
to his conscience, in giving his vote, than he would in 
giving his word. His vote is his word ; and the only- 
word, perhaps, that he can speak in the great ear of the 
nation. If that word is a lie, he sacrifices, as far as in 
him is, the right government and rectitude of the country. 



268 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

We have now attended to one branch of our speci- 
fic political duties, the morality of elections — binding 
every citizen to vote, and every citizen to vote honest- 
ly. The other department of specific morality, em- 
braces the duties of the elected — of legislators and 
magistrates. 

And here I must confess, that the tone of public sen- 
timent on this subject — the admission almost universal, 
that legislators and magistrates when elected will act, 
and must be expected to act, for sinister ends — is one 
at which I tremble. If this charge were the offspring 
of mere party recrimination, I could understand it, and 
could look upon it with comparative indifference. But 
the truth is, that the charge has been bandied about, 
between parties, till it has become resolved into a gen- 
eral maxim, or a maxim, at least, of frightful preva- 
lence among the people. If the allegation were only, 
that every administration is liable to be corrupt, and 
does sometimes lean to party ends — against such a fact, 
arising from the weakness of human nature, I could 
bear up. But when, by four out of five of all the men 
you meet, of all parties, it is sapiently or carelessly 
said, that " all is corrupt in the government ;" that " in 
Congress, of course, every thing is decided by party ;" 
that " the Capitol is but a scene of intrigue and cor- 
ruption ;" then is public virtue not only shaken, but it is 
sapped to the very foundation. And if something does 
not arrest this tendency of public sentiment, it is not 
too much to fear, that it will whelm the whole fabric 
in ruins. If virtue in a public man, is a thing alto- 
gether out of the calculation of his constituents ; if he 
is allowed to look upon his place only as a sphere of 
personal and party selfishness ; if single-minded priii- 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

ciple, if single-hearted truth for the country, is thus 
mocked at by the people, and its possessor is lead to 
regard himself, as a prodigy or a fool for his honesty, 
what is to save the state — all the barriers of virtue 
broken down—from overwhelming corruption ? 

Is this general proscription of public men, just ? I 
deny that it is. If it were, then indeed, I should have 
nothing to say, but that which I shall directly attempt 
to say, in discharge of my conscience with regard to 
such high and heaven-daring iniquity. But I deny that 
the common, the too easy allegation against public 
men, is true. It may suit the impatience of disappoint- 
ed partisans, or the envy of inferior men, or the vanity 
of the all-knowing ones, or the too deep and habitual 
distrust of the national mind, to bring these sweeping 
accusations ; but I am persuaded, that there are men 
in our high places that ought to stand acquitted of 
them — men to whom they are a heinous and cruel in- 
justice. I know that all are not corrupt ; that all are 
not gone out of the way. Mistaken they may be ; 
prejudiced they may be ; it is but human, to err ; but 
they are not all to be set down as dishonest men. I 
know this as well as I can know any fact of such a 
nature. I know it, because I know the men ; or be- 
cause, I know the character they have sustained, and 
still sustain, among their friends and neighbors. It is 
obviously, a most arbitrary and unwarrantable pro- 
ceeding, to charge upon public men as such, a worse 
character than upon the communities they represent ; 
to hold them, in virtue of their elevation, to be bad 
men ; to convert the shield of a goodly reputation, the 
moment the insignia of office are stamped upon it, into 
a target for universal abuse and opprobrium. 
23* 



270 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

But, on the other hand, when this treatment is de- 
served, when a man is false to the high trusts of ma- 
gistracy and legislation, when he makes of the greater 
trust only the greater argument for infidelity to the 
common weal, there is no language of reprobation too 
strong to visit upon him. Called by a whole district, 
perhaps, a whole country, to guard and promote its- 
welfare — presiding, alone or jointly, over the affairs 
and destinies of a whole people — each one's interest 
involved, each one's interest dear — and the interests of 
thousands, perhaps, of millions, uniting to lay upon him 
the bond of his great office — if he can shake it from 
him easily, if he can snap it asunder as tow, and cast 
it aside as the rubbish of old and out-worn morality, 
I would he might know, in what tone the outraged con- 
science of a nation can speak. I would that the pub- 
lic bosom were taught to heave, and the public eye to 
flash upon him, with withering and crushing indigna- 
tion. 

It may be thought a light thing, and to little purpose, 
to say to the man, high in office, " you are bound by 
the laws of morality and honor, to act faithfully for the 
country — yes, and above all men bound." There may 
be some men of lofty station, and more than one such, 
who would smile at the simplicity of the appeal, and 
would imagine that it must come from some child, or 
from some scholastic and retired person, sadly igno- 
rant of the world. And if, yet more, the nobleness of 
his function were insisted on ; if he were admonished, 
that nothing on earth can approach so near to the be- 
neficent Divinity as a just and good government, 
watching over a great people, ministering to the secu- 
rity, comfort and virtue of millions — he might regard 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 271 

it as a picture drawn by some visionary dreamer. Is 
it so ? Is the adjuration of subject millions, appealing 
to their rulers — is the good or the evil flowing down 
from them, through all the dwellings of a whole coun- 
try — is the sighing and the crying that goes up from 
nations, asking — ever asking for truth and justice in the 
high places of the world — -is all this to pass for vision- 
ary dreaming ? Not so ! Forbid it heaven ! Forbid it 
earth ! That profane trifling with the sanctitude of 
power — that accommodating, detestable morality, that 
allows greatness to be a shield for injustice, and office 
an exemption from duty — let all the world rise to for- 
bid. That humble ignorance should err, that burden- 
ed weakness should falter, that crushed poverty should 
swerve, may find some apology with man, some indul- 
gence with heaven : but lofty power — but command- 
ing intellect — but proud independence of the low wants 
of life — these, if any thing, shall be held amenable to 
the moral judgment of mankind — these, if any thing, 
shall stand confronted with the most awful accusations 
of human guilt, before the just and dread tribunal of 
God! 

I am sensible, that the discussion in which I have 
now engaged, of specific political duties, has already 
gone to the usual length of a public discourse ; but I 
must venture to beg your indulgence to a few closing 
remarks, of a more general character. For, I am not 
willing to leave the subject without showing, in the 
first place, that there is a lawful and useful sphere for 
those powers and principles, which are involved in the 
political action of a people ; or without pointing out, 
in the second place, the evil of pressing them beyond 
the bounds of a just morality. 



272 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

In the first place, then, there is a lawful sphere for 
political and party action. Parties, as such, are not to 
be deprecated. Oppositions are not to be deprecated. 
Newspapers devoted to the maintainance of particular 
views, newspaper arguments, public speeches — speech- 
es in caucus — are not to be 4eprecated» They are all 
to be welcomed, they are all good, in their place. 

What is their place ? Let us consider it. 

Parties then, properly regarded, are founded on the 
different views that are unavoidably taken of public 
measures and public men, All men cannot think alike. 
Differences of opinion are inevitable. Parties then, 
are necessary. And they are useful. It is for the 
public advantage, that all questions touching the com- 
mon weal, should be freely discussed. The legitimate 
action of parties is, the embodied manifestation and ad- 
vocacy of their respective views of the public policy, 
This is their proper sphere ; and this is their proper 
limit. It is no part of their business to malign the mo- 
tives of each other, or to use immoral means for the 
advancement of their respective ends. And not only 
so, but it is peculiarly incumbent on these political 
combinations, if they would act an honorable part, to 
guard themselves from prejudice, passion and violence, 
from slander, intrigue and oppression. This may be 
accounted no better, I am sensible, than " the foolish- 
ness of preaching." It is the grave voice of political 
morality, and not of faction. But I cannot admit, that 
it is out of place here. I cannot believe, that all high 
principle is for ever to be excluded from politics. I 
have in my mind still, the beau ideal of a party-man, 
differ as it may from the common example. He is not 
a man to whom all opinions are indifferent ; and, there- 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY, 27S, 

fore, he is a party-man. He is a man who adopts an 
opinion and defends it. But then he is a man who 
stands up manfully and nobly to defend his opinion — 
courageously and courteously to defend it — honestly 
and candidly to defend it ; and he spurns the idea of 
misrepresenting either the argument or the character 
of his adversary. He cares more to be true to his 
own mind and conscience, than to any thing else. He 
guards his liberty from all party invasion ; for he will 
not be a machine. He takes care not to add to his 
own natural selfishness, the selfishness of ten thousand 
other persons — for he will not be a blind leader of the 
blind. He is for his party, indeed ; but yet more for 
his country ; and for God above all. " God and my 
right," is the motto engraven on the arms of a king ; 
but upon his living bosom, is stamped the impress of a 
nobler motto — " God, and my country !" 

There is also a theory of opposition to the govern- 
ment — the beau-ideal of an opposition-man, which, it 
were to be wished, were more considered than it is. 
To pull down and destroy, is not in ordinary circum- 
stances, the legitimate end of an opposition. But it is 
to limit, to control, to correct, and thus ultimately to 
assist. It is not to look upon the government, as a 
hostile power that has made a lodgment in the coun- 
try, and is to be expelled by a party war ; but as a 
lawfully constituted power, that is to be watched, re- 
strained, and kept from going wrong. Still, it is the 
government of our country, and is to be respected. 
Still, it is the government of our country, and is to be 
regarded with a candid, and I had almost said, a filial 
spirit. Its officers are not to be assailed with scurri- 
lous abuse, nor its departments to be degraded by vile 



274 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

epithets. There is a certain consideration and dignity 
to be preserved by an opposition. If not, if its spirit 
is altogether factious and fault-finding, if it rejoices 
over the errors of an administration, it so far loses all 
respectability : it shows, that it is not so anxious for a 
good government, as to be itself the government. 

Oppositions, then — parties, party arguments and 
measures, all have their legitimate sphere. But now 
I say, in the second place, that when they transcend 
their sphere, when they overleap the bounds of mo- 
rality, they become engines of evil and peril to the 
country. 

The only sound and safe principle, I must continu- 
ally insist, is that which binds morals and politics in 
indissoluble union ; which admits of no compromise, 
exception or question ; which will hear of nothing as 
expedient, that is at variance with truth and justice. 
Politics are to have no scale of morality, graduated to 
their exigencies. That which is wrong every where 
else, is wrong here. That which is wrong for every 
other body of men, is wrong for a party. A bad man, 
in every other relation, is a bad man for the country. 
He may, indeed, chance to espouse some right meas- 
ure. But he who is devoid of all principle in private 
life, can give no satisfactory pledge, that he will be 
governed by any principle in public life. 

The evils of forsaking the moral guidance in politi- 
cal affairs, are various and vast, and they demand the 
most serious consideration. They more deeply con- 
cern the country, than any peril to its visible prosperi- 
ty. They are such, that they demand our most sol- 
emn meditation in our holiest hours and places. 

The tendency of political action, when set free from 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 275 

moral restraint, is to break down all personal indepen- 
dence in the country. Parties, then, demand, not 
honesty but service, of their votaries. Governments 
strengthen themselves by bribery and corruption. 
Oppositions take the same arms, and, in their hour of 
success, retort the same measures. Abuses become 
precedents, and precedents multiply abuses. Every 
new administration, every generation of politicians be- 
comes, not wiser, but worse than their predecessors, 
their fathers. The tendency of things, without moral 
restraint, is ever downwards. Already have we ar- 
rived at that stage of deterioration, when you will find 
many respectable and honest men in the country, 
blinded by reasonings like these — " Why should not an 
administration, they say, reward its friends and sup- 
porters ? What is it, but righting the wrongs done by 
a previous administration? What is it, in fact, but 
choosing its friends, rather than its enemies, to help it 
carry on the government V I will grant, that this must 
be done, in regard to its immediate council — its Cabi- 
net. But when it extends beyond this to subordinate 
officers, what is it but a system of favoritism and pro- 
scription, fatal to all public virtue ? Honesty then be- 
comes a discarded and persecuted virtue ; and mere, 
blind, unscrupulous party zeal becomes the only pass- 
port to honors and emoluments. Honorable citizen- 
ship is sunk in base partisanship. The entire national 
dignity, so far as it is connected with its political ac- 
tion — freedom, franchise, patriotism, self-respect — all 
is merged in a vile scramble for office. The national 
conscience is sold in the market. The national honor 
is all bowed down to the worship of interest. The 
corrupted nation sets up a golden calf, in place of the 



276 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

Divinity of pristine and holy truth ; and not the Isra- 
elites, at the footstool of God's manifested presence, 
were more debased and sacrilegious idolaters. 

The destruction of mutual confidence and respect, 
is another evil connected with our party strifes, and to 
me, it is one of the most painful. 

Pass through the different party circles of the coun- 
try, and what shall you hear ? In the course of a sin- 
gle day, you shall hear every public man in the coun- 
try, charged with a total want of principle. You shall 
hear this constantly, from men of the greatest sobriety 
and weight of character. Not one man in public life, 
high enough to be a mark for observation, shall escape 
this tremendous proscription. If you open the news- 
papers, in the hope, by some patient reading and in- 
vestigation, to ascertain what the truth is, you find 
yourself immediately launched upon a sea of doubts. 
Every fact, every measure, every man, is represented 
in such different lights, that you are totally at a loss, 
so far as that testimony goes, what to believe. You 
are in a worse condition than a juror, vexed by con- 
trary pleadings. You have no judge to help you, and 
the whole country is filled with party pleadings, with- 
out law or precedent, without rule or restraint. You 
soon come to feel, as if nothing less than the devotion 
of a whole life, can enable you thoroughly to under- 
stand the questions that are brought before you : but 
you have no life to give — you have something else to 
do. There is, indeed, one way to find relief; and it 
is the common way. It is to believe every thing that 
one party says, and nothing that another says. But 
he must altogether abjure his reason, who believes that 
this is the way to come at the truth. And yet, this is the 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 277 

course usually adopted ; and men are reading their fa- 
vorite journals the year round, not to get their minds en- 
lightened and their judgments corrected, but only to have 
their passions inflamed, and their prejudices confirmed. 

Thus, the grand instrument of public opinion is 
broken. A sound and virtuous public opinion is the 
only safeguard of the country, and yet men lay their 
hands upon it as recklessly, as if it were given them to 
practice upon, and to pervert and poison at their pleas- 
ure — as if this great surrounding atmosphere of thought, 
which invests and sustains the people, were but a la- 
boratory for the experiments of ingenuity and tricks 
of legerdemain. 

Thus, I say, confidence is fallen, and with it is fallen 
mutual respect. What respect can there be between 
parties, who are constantly accusing one another of 
fraud and perjury, of the worst practices and the bas- 
est ends ? What respect between editors of journals, 
who are daily charging each other with intrigue, ma- 
lignity and wilful falsehood ? Can any honorable mind 
desire this state of things ? Can nothing be done to in- 
troduce a new morality, a new courtesy into our dis- 
cussions ? Must our conflicts always be of this bad and 
brutal character ? Is it not the inevitable tendency of 
this fierce and blasting recrimination, to blunt the sense 
of honor ? Instead of feeling " a stain like a wound," 
a man is likely to come out of such conflicts seared 
and scaled all over, as with the mail of leviathan. I 
confess, that I look with more respect upon the gentle 
courtesy of the old chivalry, upon the mad sense of 
honor defended in the tournament, upon the bloody 
battling of national pride and jealousy, than upon the 
abusive and outrageous language of our party strifes. 

24 



278 ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 

All this, too, in a time of peace ! All this for difference 
of opinion, on grave and difficult questions, upon which 
men may lawfully and honestly differ ! Opponents for 
such cause, treating one another like ruffians ! Repu- 
tation — the life, the more than life of a man, stabbed 
and slain in the shambles of this political butchery ! 
Tell us not, men of the world ! of our religious dis- 
putes. Talk not of our odium theologicum. Say no- 
thing of the contentions of professional men, or of the 
quarrels of authors. Their sound is scarcely heard 
now, nor is it likely any more to be audible in this land ; 
for it is all lost in the loud strife and fierce battle of 
politics, that is every year and every month, rising and 
raging around us. 

And the tendency of all this, in fine, is to debase and 
brutalize the country. Personal independence beaten 
down ; mutual confidence and respect prostrated ; mor- 
al deterioration follows as a natural consequence. I 
do not forget to limit the observation. I know that 
political action is not the whole action of the country. 
I do not say, that the national character is all sunk to 
the point of its political derelictions : by no means. 
But this I say, that immorality in politics, so far as it 
can take effect, tends to debase and brutalize the coun- 
try. It tends to corrupt the public sentiment, and to 
degrade private virtue. No man is so pure, but he is 
vilified without mercy, by the opposite party. . No 
man is so base so vicious and criminal, but he is sus- 
tained without conscience, by his own. It tends to di- 
vest the franchise of all dignity, and the government 
of all venerableness. Let politics be separated from 
principle, from a high and commanding morality, and 
instead of the calm majesty of a free people at the 



ON POLITICAL MORALITY. 279 

polls, we shall see the brawls of a vulgar election ; and 
instead of a magnanimous and self-poised government, 
a miserable, time-serving, place-keeping faction ! 

But I must check myself. I ought not, for your pa- 
tience' sake, to enlarge on this topic, though, alas ! it 
were too easy to do so. Is it not possible, I have said, 
to introduce a new morality, a new courtesy into our 
political disputes? And little as you may imagine that 
this question is thought of, yet I am persuaded, that 
there are thousands of lofty minds that ask it, with ea- 
gerness it may be, with sighing, and almost, with de- 
spair. But I am persuaded that it is possible. Even 
if the pulpit would do its duty, I persuade myself, that 
much would be accomplished. If, leaving barren po- 
lemics and useless abstractions, it would address itself 
to this momentous theme of the nation's moral well- 
being — if, among the duties which men owe to men, it 
would solemnly and emphatically place the duties they 
owe to their country, it could not be without some ef- 
fect. Sad and lamentable, that in a country like this, 
the pulpit should be wanting to such a trust ! Yes, it 
is possible to do something — to do every thing. Pos- 
sible, did I say ? How easy were it ? It is but for 
every writer and speaker to the country, to charge 
himself to speak and write with fairness, candor and 
courtesy ; for every citizen to vote honestly ; for every 
Legislator and ruler, to act as one who has sworn at the 
altar of truth, in the sight of Heaven. Oh ! come, ho- 
ly truth, easier than falsehood ! primeval virtue, better 
than victory ! — and that which the sages of the world, 
the prophets of human hope, looking over the ages, 
have sighed to behold, shall appear — a free and happy 
community — a free, lofty and self-governed people ! 



280 



DISCOURSE XII. 

THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

(Delivered on the Thanksgiving Anniversary in 1837.) 



JEREMIAH XXX. 21. And their nobles shall be of 

THEMSELVES, AND THEIR GOVERNORS SHALL PROCEED FROM 
THE MIDST OF THEM. 

The subject on which I am about to address you, 
is the blessing of freedom ; the advantages of that po- 
litical condition in which we are placed. 

There are various causes in operation, which tend 
to lessen in us, the due sense of these advantages. 
Extravagance of praise — asserting too much with re- 
s&rd to any principle — overdrawn statements of its 
nature, and perpetual boasting of its effects, are likely 
in all cases, sooner or later, to bring about a reaction. 
I think we are now witnessing something of this reac- 
tion. The abuses of the principle of liberty also, the 
outbreakings of popular violence, mobs and tumults 
prostrating the law under foot, and the tyranny, more- 
over, of legal majorities, and withal, the bitter animosi- 
ties of party strife, and the consequent incessant fluc- 
tuations of public policy, constantly deranging the bu- 
siness of the country — all these things are leading some 
to say, but with more haste and rashness than wisdom, 



THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 281 

I must think, that even political oppression and injus- 
tice, which should make all strong and firm and per- 
manent, would be better than that state of things in 
which we live. Add to all this, that the blessings 
which are common, like the air we breathe and the 
light of day — blessings which are invested with the fa- 
miliar livery of our earliest and most constant experi- 
ence — are apt to pass by us unregarded ; while the 
evils of life, calamities and concussions of the elements, 
shipwrecks and storms and earthquakes, rise into por- 
tentous and heart-thrilling significance ; and we see an- 
other and final reason w r hy the advantages of our po- 
litical condition are liable to be undervalued. We have 
departed just far enough from those days in which the 
battle for freedom was fought, to substitute indifference 
and complaint, for the old enthusiasm and devotion. 

Indeed, it appears to me, that the time has come, not 
only in this country, but on the theatre of the world's 
public opinion, when the merits of popular representa- 
tive government are to be thoroughly examined. In 
fact, they were never brought into such controversy 
all over the world, as they are at this moment. Nay, 
even in this country, strange as it may seem, there is, 
in some minds at least, such a controversy. But, in 
England, the question about giving supreme dominion 
to the public will, is the great, the ultimate and vital 
question of the day. That question, too, is penetrat- 
ing into France and Germany ; and it will yet make 
its way into Italy, and Russia, and the Ottoman Em- 
pire itself. 

The first step which I shall take in defending the 
ground which we as a nation have taken, will be care- 
fully to define it. What then is the ground which we 



282 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

have taken ? What is the principle of a democratic or 
representative government ? It is, that no restraints, 
disabilities or penalties shall be laid upon any person, 
and that no immunities, privileges or charters shall be 
conferred on any person or any class of persons, but 
such as tend to promote the general welfare. This ex- 
ception, be it remembered, is an essential part of our 
theory. Our principle is not, as I conceive, that no 
privileges shall be granted to one person more than to 
another. If bank charters, for instance, can be proved 
to be advantageous to the community, our principle 
must allow them. It is upon the same principle, that 
we grant acts of incorporation to the governors of 
colleges, academies and hospitals, and to many other 
benevolent and literary societies : it is upon the ground 
that they benefit the public, And what is government 
itself, but a corporation possessing and exercising cer- 
tain exclusive powers for the general weal. The 
President of the United States is, by our will, the most 
privileged person in the country; he holds, for the 
time being, an absolute monopoly of certain extraor- 
dinary powers. Will any man say, then, that no per- 
son shall enjoy any privileges which he does not en- 
joy ? There may, doubtless, be monopolies and immu- 
nities which are wrong, unjust and injurious. But 
when the popular cry is, ** down with all monopolies ! 
down with all corporations and charters !" I hold, that 
it is a senseless cry. It is a senseless cry, because it 
is suicidal ; because it is fatal to all government. 

Again, I maintain, that our democratic principle is 
not that the people are always right. It is this rather 3 
that although the people may sometimes be wrong, yet 
that they are not so likely to be wrong and to do wrong 



THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 283 

as irresponsible, hereditary magistrates and legislators ; 
that it is safer to trust the many with the keeping of 
their own interests, than it is to trust the few to keep 
those interests for them. The people are not always 
right ; they are often wrong. They must be so, from 
the very magnitude, difficulty and complication of the 
questions that are submitted to them. I am amazed, 
that thinking men, conversant with these questions, 
should address such gross flattery and monstrous ab^ 
surdity to the people, as to be constantly telling them, 
that they will put all these questions right at the ballots 
box. And I am no less amazed, that a sensible peo'ple 
should suffer such folly to be spoken to them. Is it 
possible that the people believe it ? Is it possible that 
the majority itself of any people, can be so infatuated 
as to hold, that in virtue of its being a majority, it is 
always right ? Alas ! for truth, if it is to depend on 
votes ! Has the majority always been right in religion 
or in philosophy ? But the science of politics involves 
questions no less intricate and difficult. And on these 
questions, there are grave and solemn decisions to be 
made by the people ; great State problems are submit- 
ted to them ; such, for instance, as concerning internal 
improvements, the tariff, the currency, banking, and 
the nicest points of construction ; which cost even the 
wisest men much study ; and what the people require 
for the solution of these questions, is not rash haste, 
boastful confidence, furious anger and mad strife, but 
sobriety, calmness, modesty — qualities, indeed, that 
would go far to abate the violence of our parties, and 
to hush the brawls of our elections. I do not deny, 
that questions of deep national concern, may justly 
awaken great zeal and earnestness ; but I do deny, 



284 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

that the public mind should be bolstered up with the 
pride of supposing itself to possess any complete, much 
less, any suddenly acquired knowledge of them. I am 
willing to take my fellow-citizens for my governors, 
with all their errors ; I prefer their will, legally signi- 
fied, to any other government ; but to say or imply, 
that they do not err and often err, is a doctrine alike 
preposterous in general theory, and pernicious in its 
effects upon themselves. 

A popular government, then, is not to be represented 
as an unerring government, but only as less likely to err, 
less likely to oppress and wrong the people, than any 
other. 

Errors there are, indeed, and enough of them, to 
make the people unfeignedly cautious and modest, in 
the great attempt to govern themselves. The violence 
and immorality of party strifes, the prostration of all 
social order beneath the feet of infuriated mobs, the 
taking of life without the forms of law, murder, in- 
deed, in the open day, and with more than the impu- 
nity of ordinary concealment — these things fill us at 
times, with alternate disgust and despair. Let the 
weight of public reprobation rest upon them. I would 
not lift one finger of the heavy hand which ought to 
lie upon them, and which ultimately must lie upon 
them. But let it not be thought, that strifes and tu- 
mults are the peculiar results of republican institutions. 
Will any one say that, during the period of our nation- 
al existence, we have suffered more from the turbu- 
lence of the people, than other nations under different 
forms of government ? Have we forgotten the riots, 
the burning of hay-ricks and destruction of machinery 
in England ; the horrors of the successive revolutions 



THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 285 

in France ; the tumults and secret societies of Ger- 
many ; the Ottoman throne swaying to and fro to the 
pushing pike-staffs of lawless Janizaries ; the atrocities 
of Russian despotism in Poland ; the gentle tyranny 
of Austria, not so blood-thirsty — no, but only burying 
alive her noblest subjects in the graves of Spielburg 
and Venice— -have we forgotten these things, that we 
are willing to exchange for such fortunes, the peaceful 
order of these free and happy States ? 

It is true, indeed, and lamentable as true, that this 
peaceful order is sometimes broken. It is true and 
lamentable, that some of our citizens have strangely 
forgotten the very principle on which our institutions 
are based — freedom— ^freedom of speech, freedom of 
publication, freedom of trial by jury as the only con- 
dition on which life, liberty or property in this country 
shall be ever touched. My blood runs cold in my 
veins, and I tremble as I look upon my children, to 
think — that my house or yours, may yet be surround- 
ed by an armed mob, that you or I may be shot down, 
without remorse, on our own threshold, simply for as- 
serting our honest opinion. But, I thank God, that 
this is yet a country, and I trust in God, always will 
be a country, in which I can express my indignation 
alike against the despotism of a government, and the 
despotism of a populace. When it ceases to be such, 
be it no longer my country ! Give me any tyranny, ra- 
ther than that most monstrous of all the tyrannies ever 
heard of — the bloody violence of a lawless people, with 
liberty on their lips and murder in their hearts. Let 
this body of mine sink under the Turkish bow-string 
or the Russian knout, rather than be trodden out of 
life under the heels of a brutal populace. I am not 



286 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

an abolitionist, in the technical sense of that word, and 
I say it now, only that I may give my words the great- 
er force. For if I thought every abolitionist in the 
country worthy of death, I should still say that the 
hand which inflicted it, without the forms of law, was 
the hand of a murderer. And wo and shame to the 
country, if such deeds can go unpunished ! 

I have said that I am not an abolitionist, but let it 
not be supposed, on the other hand, that I am a friend 
to the system of slavery. With what face could I en- 
ter upon a defence of the doctrine of liberty, if I were 
so ? The very despot could defend liberty upon that 
plan — that is, " liberty for me," he would say, " and 
bondage for you." Slavery is, undoubtedly, an anom- 
aly in our free institutions. And when I defend and 
eulogise our freedom, that, of course, must be set aside, 
as a lamentable, though I trust, that it is to be a tem- 
porary exception. 

Let me now proceed to speak of liberty as a bless- 
ing, and the highest blessing that can appertain to the 
condition of a people. This, you know, is denied. It 
is maintained, on the contrary, that liberty is a curse. 
I do not say that such a proposition is openly main- 
tained in this country. But in other countries, it is 
maintained, with a zeal to which we must, at least, al- 
low the credit of sincerity, that the liberty we contend 
for, is a curse ; that it is not only a dream of enthusi- 
asts, but a wild and dangerous dream, which must 
sooner or later, wake to the fearful realities of disor- 
der, anarchy and bloodshed. We are called upon, 
therefore, with equal earnestness to defend the ground, 
which we as a people, have taken. This defence, I 
will humbly, in my place, attempt. 



THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 287 

Arid in the first place, I value our political constitu- 
tion, because it is the only system that accords with 
the truth of things, the only system that recognises the 
great claims and inalienable rights of humanity. There 
may be nations who are not prepared to assert these 
claims, and to enjoy these rights. I speak not for them. 
But for me it is a happiness that I live under a politi- 
cal system, that is not based upon error, that involves 
no gross and palpable violation of the great and mani- 
fest rights of humanity. I might feel, in Austria or in 
Prussia, that I was no sufferer from the political sys- 
tem under which I lived ; nay, I might be one of the 
favorites of that system ; but I would not desire to be 
the favorite of a system, which would be a constant 
reproach to my reason and my conscience. Why, I 
must naturally desire that even the machinery of a 
manufactory, were I engaged in one, should be the 
best — should exhibit the fittest adjustment of part to 
part ; — how much more must 1 desire this, concerning 
the machinery of that political constitution, which in- 
volves not only interests, but rights and duties. 

There is not, and there cannot be, any true system of 
political morality, which does not consult the greatest 
happiness of the greatest number. And no splendor 
of a nobility, no magnificence of a throne, can atone for 
the want of that principle. No sentiment of loyalty, 
however honorable and graceful it may seem, can 
stand in place of the dignity of justice. 

And what is that justice — the justice of a social sys- 
tem ? What is the tenor of the law under which all men 
evidently hold life, and all the blessings of life, from 
the great Creator? Is it that one man's will shall reign, 
a despotic sovereign, over the welfare of millions ? Is 



288 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

it that any one class shall be raised to perpetual honor 
and power, while all other classes shall be proportion- 
ably depressed? Is this justice? I am not saying 
now what temporary expediency may be ; but, I say, 
is this justice ? How, is it manifestly the will of heav- 
en, that men, its children, should regard and treat one 
another ? Must we quote written texts, to prove that 
the great Being who reigns over all is no respecter of 
persons ? Must we solemnly appeal to the universal 
sense of right in the human breast, to show that ac- 
cording to the will of God, the dispensation of wealth, 
happiness, honor and all the blessings of existence 
should come the nearest possible to the measure of dis- 
tributive justice — the nearest possible to being the re- 
ward of merit ? That it cannot come precisely to this 
point, is true ; but is that any argument for failing to 
come the nearest possible to it ? Can any honorable 
and generous mind willingly consent to live — can it 
live happily, with monstrous social injustice all around 
it — with monstrous social injustice as the very basis 
of its distinction ; — and that injustice capable of a rem- 
edy ? And is there not injustice in the social, the semi- 
feudal system of Europe — a system of immemorial 
preferences in church and state, in political employ- 
ments and social honors ? What is it but to run a race, 
in which certain hereditary competitors have all the 
advantage ! Would you send your sons so to run a 
race even in a May-day game ? But what is this to 
the race of life, the race for happiness which all men 
are running ? Would you put out your children to an 
apprenticeship, or into a school, where certain of their 
fellows, by no merit of their own, were placed so fai 
above them, that they could only by gracious permis- 



THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 289 

sion, raise their eyes to them ? But what would this 
be, to the great, discipline and school of life ? These 
are not mere figures. They represent facts. They 
point to grievous burthens, heavy to be borne. Is it 
not a burthen to the Dissenter, that all the ecclesiasti- 
cal revenues of a kingdom, should be garnered up for 
a privileged church ? Is it not a burthen to the com- 
moner, that so many of the powers and honors of a 
state, should be lavished upon a hereditary class ? Is 
it not a burthen to the laborer or artisan, that so large 
a portion of the capital of a country, should be for 
ever sequestrated from their reach, for the ease and 
aggrandisement of a few ? The capital of a country 
consists mainly in its soil, its mines, its woods and wa- 
ters. And, now, to take the most prosperous example 
of feudal institutions in the world — who, I ask, who 
own almost half of the soil and mines, the woods and 
waters of England ? Her nobles. And by law, they 
are permitted to hold them, in perpetual entail, in their 
own families, for their own advantage, and even free 
from attachment for debt ! And, in addition to this, by 
the custom and courtesy, should I not rather say, the 
discourtesy of society, they are permitted to look down 
upon the whole surrounding world. 

I thank heaven, that I live in a country of more equal 
institutions. I do not pretend here to judge of Eng- 
lish reforms. Whether they are too rapid or too slow, 
I am not qualified to decide. But I may, at least, 
thank heaven, that we do not need them. Perhaps I 
have a hearer, to whom even these candid allusions to 
England may not be agreeable. It may not be with- 
out some degree of irritation, that he will ask, why I 
should say any thing in disparagement of England ? 
25 



290 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

the most glorious country, he may say, in the world. 
He may say this, and I shall not refuse to agree with 
him : but the glory of England is the work of time and 
position, and of a noble race of men, and not, I trust, 
of the inequality of her political constitution. Why, 
then, do I speak as I do, even of the fairest and most 
modified example of feudal institutions ? I will answer. 
It is because I stand up for justice, as the dearest im- 
munity of a civilized state. It is because I stand up 
for humanity, as the noblest claim in the world. It is 
because I contend for a dignity, higher than that of 
kings and nobles — the dignity of truth. It is, in fine, 
because I am willing, and I wish to stand on earth as 
a man — beneath the equal and even canopy of heav- 
en — in presence of the impartial justice and loving- 
kindness that reign in that heaven — there to discharge 
my lot, and to work out my welfare as a man. It 
offends me, to think that I or any other man should 
be bolstered up with hereditary advantages, or with 
social or religious immunities, that are denied to mine 
equals, my brethren, in the sight of God. That is my 
feeling, be it called quixotism, or whatever else any one 
may call it. I have, in this matter, an unfortunate and 
strange way of thinking of others, as if they possessed 
my own nature ; and I cannot patiently bear, that the 
children of one common Father, should be treated with 
a partiality that would revolt me, if it were introduced 
among the children of an earthly parentage. It is mon- 
strous in the eye of reason ; it is treason to gentle hu- 
manity ; it is as truly unjust, as if it were the oppres- 
sion of bonds and burthens ; and the time will come, 
when it will be so regarded. The dignity of the Eng- 
lish mind, I am certain, will not always bear it. In 



THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 291 

the mean time, I say it again, I thank heaven, that I 
am made no party, either better or worse, to the in- 
justice of such a system. 

II. In the next place, I value our liberty, and deem 
it a just cause of thankfulness to heaven, because it 
fosters and developes all the intellectual and moral 
powers of the country. 

Freedom is the natural school of energy and enter- 
prize. Freedom is the appropriate sphere of talent 
and virtue. The soul was not made to walk in fetters. 
To act powerfully, it must act freely ; and it must act, 
too, under all the fair incentives of an honest and hon- 
orable ambition. This applies, especially, to the mass 
of the people. There may be minds, and there are, 
which find a sufficient incentive to exertion, in the love 
of knowledge and improvement, in the single aim at 
perfection. But this is not, and cannot be, the con- 
dition of the mass of minds. They need other im- 
pulses. Open then, I say, freely and widely to every 
individual, the way to wealth, to honor, to social respect 
and to public office, and you put life into any people. 
Impart that principle to a nation of Turks, or even of 
Hindoos, and it will be as a resurrection from the dead. 
The sluggish spirit will be aroused ; the languid nerve 
will be strung to new energy ; there will be a stir of 
action and a spring to industry all over the country, 
because there will be a motive. Alas ! how many poor 
toilers in the world are obliged to labor, without 
reward, without hope, almost without motive ! Like 
the machinery amidst which they labor, and of 
which they are scarcely more than a part, they are 
moved by the impulse of blind necessity. The single 
hope of bettering their condition, which now, alas ! 



292 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

never visits them, would regenerate them to a new 
life. 

Now, it is with such life, that this whole nation is 
inspired. It is freedom that has breathed the breath 
of life into this people. I know that there are perils 
attending this intense action and competition of society. 
But I see, nevertheless, a principle that is carrying for- 
ward this country with a progress, altogether unprece- 
dented in the history of the world. Invention, internal 
improvement, and accumulation among us, are taking- 
strides before unheard of. More school-houses, col- 
leges and churches have been builded, in this country, 
within the last twenty years ; more canals and rail- 
roads have been constructed ; more fortunes have been 
acquired, and, what is better, more poor men have risen 
to competence ; and, in fine, more enterprizes and 
works of social and religious beneficence have been 
achieved, than ever were done, take them all together, 
in an equal time, by an equal population, under heaven. 
For these things, I love and honour my country. For 
these things, I am thankful to heaven, that my lot is 
cast in it. And this I say, not in the spirit of boasting, 
but because I think the time has come when it needs 
to be said ; because I believe that many of us are in- 
sensible to our advantages ; because the eyes of the 
world are fixed upon us for inquisition and for reproach, 
and incessant foreign criticism is liable to cool the fer- 
vor of our patriotism. 

Nay, I will go further, and confess the secret hope 
I have long entertained, that the liberty wherewith, a? 
I believe, God has made us free, that the equal justice, 
the impartial rewards which encourage individual en- 
terprize in this country, will produce yet more glorious 



THE BLESSING OP FREEDOM. 293 

and signal results ; results that will proclaim to all the 
world, that political equity is the best pledge for na- 
tional dignity, strength and honor ; results which will, 
effectually and for ever break down the pernicious 
maxim, that a certain measure of political injustice and 
favoritism, is necessary to the order and security of the 
social state. As I believe in a righteous Providence, I 
do not believe in this maxim ; and I trust in God, that 
it will receive its final and annihilating blow in this 
very country. It is not that I challange for our people 
any natural superiority to other people. It is not to 
the shrine of national pride that I bring the homage of 
this lofty hope, but to the footstool of divine goodness. 
It is to our signal advantages, and especially to the 
equal justice of our institutions, that I look for the ac- 
complishment of this great hope. I believe that 
freedom — -free action — free enterprize — free competi- 
tion — -will be found to be the best of auspices for 
every kind of human success. I believe that our citi- 
zens will be found to act more effectively, and more 
generously, and more nobly, for being free ; that our 
citizen soldiers will, if called upon, fight more valiantly 
for being free ; that our laborers will toil more cheer- 
fully for being free ; that our merchants will trade more 
successfully ; nay, and little as it may be expected, 
that our preachers and orators w T ill discourse more elo- 
quently, and that our authors will write more power- 
fully, for the spirit of freedom that is among us. The 
future, indeed, must tell us whether this is a dream of 
enthusiastic patriotism. But I would fain have the 
most generous of principles for once laid at the heart 
of a great people, and see what it will do. Alas! for 
humanity — never yet has it been treated with the con-- 
25* 



294 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

fidence of simple justice. Never yet has any voice 
effectually said to man, " God has made thee to be as 
happy and as glorious if thou wilt, as thy most envied 
fellow." When that voice does address the heart of 
the multitude, will it not arouse itself to loftier efforts. 
to nobler sacrifices, to higher aspirations, and more 
generous virtues, than were ever seen to be the off- 
spring of any unequal and ungenerous system that ever 
man has devised ? God grant that the hope may be 
realized, and the vision accomplished ! It were enough 
to make one say, "now let me depart in peace, for 
mine eyes have seen thy salvation !" 

III. In the third place, I value political liberty, be- 
cause, of that which a free and unfettered energy 
obtains, it gives the freest and amplest use. 

What is the effect, nay, what is the design of a des- 
potic government, but to deprive the people of the 
largest amount that it can, or dare, of the proceeds of 
their honest industry and laudable enterprize ? Under 
its grossest forms, it levies direct contributions ; in its 
more plausible administration, it levies taxes ; but in 
either case, its end is the same — to feed and batten a 
few, at the expense of the many. In order the more 
effectually to accomplish this purpose, such govern- 
ments require standing armies, or to speak more ex- 
actly, a military force to act at home. That is to say, 
a part of the citizens, one of each family, perhaps, 
must be armed and trained, in order to coerce and 
control the labor, the toil, the entire labor of the rest. 

Such then, more or less strongly marked, is the con- 
dition of labor in every part of the world, with the ex- 
ception of our own favored country. The people 
must work till they are weary, for the supply of their 



THE BLESSING OP FREEDOM. 295 

own wants. So far the law of labor is healthful, and 
every way useful. But after that, they must work a 
while longer — one or two hours every day — to support 
a home military force. And then, when the yoke is 
fairly fixed upon their necks, they must work as much 
longer as their masters please, to gorge the almost in- 
satiable appetite of a luxurious court, and a herd of 
idle courtiers and sycophants beside. And the reward 
they get, is two-fold ; perpetual poverty, and an utter 
contempt of their grovelling employments. 

Let me not be told, that differences in the form of 
government are mere matters of speculation ; that they 
have very little to do with our private welfare ; that a 
man may be as happy under one form as another. I 
think it was on occasion of our Revolution, that Dr. 
Johnson put forth some such oracle as this. But it is 
not true. It may pass for good nature, or for smooth 
philosophy, if any one pleases so to call it, but it is 
not true. What more obvious interest of human 
life is there, than that a man's labor shall produce 
for him, the greatest possible amount of comfort ; that 
he should enjoy, as far as is compatible with the sup- 
port of civil order, the proceeds of his toil ! Labor, 
honorable and useful as it is, is not so very agreeable, 
that a man should recklessly give it for that which is 
not bread. And that, he emphatically does, who gives 
it for pensions, sinecures and monopolies, and estab- 
lishments and wars, which benefit him not at all. 
What real interest have the people had in four-fifths 
of the wars that have devastated Europe, and burthen- 
ed all her governments with enormous debts ? It is 
strange, indeed, when the laboring hand is so near the 
suffering heart, that men do not feel this. But the rea- 



296 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

son is, that the exactions of selfish and unjust govern- 
ments come upon them in the indirect form of taxa- 
tion — of impost and revenue, and excise, and the hun- 
dred minor and contemptible contrivances that have 
been invented, to hide from them the fact. Let them 
be told, let them see, that of their ten hour's toil each 
day, four or five hours only are for themselves or their 
families, while the remainder are for other families and 
other children than their own, and they would think it in- 
tolerable. But this, more or less, always is, and always 
must be, the condition of the people, where govern- 
ments do not represent its expressed and supreme will. 
For it is not in human nature, lawfully and justly to 
use unlawful and unlimited power. I only wish to 
know that governments have the power to oppress the 
people, to know that they use it. And the very defi- 
nition of such a power is — a power not emanating from 
themselves. Tell your neighbor, ay, or your friend, 
that he may govern you, not as much as you please,, 
but just as much as he pleases, and you know very 
well what the consequence will be. You would not 
trust your dearest friend, nor scarcely an angel in heav- 
en, to have such a power over you* I thank heaven, 
that there is no such power, and nothing approaching 
to it, in this country. And in order to make out a 
clear case of superior advantages, on our part, it is not 
necessary that I should go into details, (for which, in- 
deed, I have not space ;) it is not necessary, that I 
should now particularize and say, that this government 
possesses such a power, and that government a certain 
other power, which bear hard upon the people ; for 
every government not emanating from them, is sure to 
present a case of such hardship. But one fact, I will 



THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 297 

mention in this connection, which may stand in place 
of all other facts, and that is, the eternal enmity which 
exists in every other country between the government 
and the people. That enmity, as old as the creation, 
has never been brought so completely to an end as 
here. I know that we hear sometimes of measures of 
an administration, as having an unfriendly bearing up- 
on particular interests ; but it is certain, that the gov- 
ernment with us, can never stand up in permanent 
hostility to that people, of which it is the creature. 
But when we turn our eyes abroad, what do we see ? 
Every where the people are demanding constitutions, 
charters, immunities, changes, which their respective 
governments will not concede to them. So far as the 
satisfaction of a people with its institutions is concern- 
ed, we are, after all that is said about popular disturb- 
ances among us, in a state of singular, of enviable, I 
may say, of profound tranquillity. And well do I know, 
if I know the spirit of this people, that that tranquillity 
would be effectually disturbed, were a tithe of the re- 
sistance and refusal to which every other nation must 
submit, to lay its intolerable grievance on us. The 
very cup of blessings with us, would be a cup of wrath 
and indignation. 

I have offered some reasons to show that our free- 
dom is a blessing. It is founded in rectitude as a prin- 
ciple ; it fosters the intellectual and moral growth of a 
country ; and it favors the amplest enjoyment of all 
the blessings of existence. These are reasons. But I 
should not exhaust the subject, even in this. most gen- 
eral view of it, if I did not add one further considera- 
tion in behalf of freedom ; a consideration that is high- 
er and stronger than any reason ; I mean the intrinsic 



298 THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 

desirableness of this condition to every human being. 
In this respect, freedom is like virtue, like happiness ; 
we value it for its own sake. God has stamped upon 
our very humanity this impress of freedom. It is the 
unchartered prerogative of human nature. A soul 
ceases to be a soul, in proportion as it ceases to be free. 
Strip it of this, and you strip it of one of its essential 
and characteristic attributes. It is this that draws the 
footsteps of the wild Indian to his wide and boundless 
desert-paths, and makes him prefer them to the gay 
saloons and soft carpets of sumptuous palaces. It is 
this that makes it so difficult to bring him within the 
pale of artificial civilization. Our roving tribes are 
perishing — a sad and solemn sacrifice upon the altar 
of their wild freedom. They come among us, and look 
with childish wonder upon the perfection of our arts, 
and the splendor of our habitations ; they submit with 
ennui and weariness, for a few days, to our burthen- 
some forms and restraints ; and then turn their faces 
to their forest homes, and resolve to push those homes 
onward till they sink in the Pacific waves, rather than 
not be free. 

It is thus that every people is attached to its coun- 
try, just in proportion as it is free. No matter if that 
country be in the rocky fastnesses of Switzerland, 
amidst the snows of Tartary, or on the most barren and 
lonely Island-shore ; no matter if that country be so 
poor, as to force away its children to other and richer 
lands, for employment and sustenance ; yet when the 
songs of those free homes chance to fall upon the ex- 
ile's ear, no soft and ravishing airs that wait upon the 
timed feastings of Asiatic opulence, ever thrilled the 
heart with such mingled rapture and agony, as those 



THE BLESSING OF FREEDOM. 299 

simple tones. Sad mementoes might they be of pov- 
erty and want and toil ; yet it was enough that they 
were mementoes of happy freedom. And more than 
once has it been necessary to forbid by military orders, 
in the armies of the Swiss mercenaries, the singing of 
their native songs. 

And such an attachment, do I believe, is found in 
our own people, to their native country. It is the 
country of the free ; and that single consideration com- 
pensates for the want of many advantages, which other 
countries possess over us. And glad am I, that it 
opens wide its hospitable gates, to many a noble but 
persecuted citizen, from the dungeons of Austria and 
Italy, and the imprisoning castles and citadels of Po- 
land. Here may they find rest, as they surely find 
sympathy, though it is saddened with many bitter re- 
membrances ! 

Yes, let me be free ; let me go and come at my own 
will ; let me do business and make journies, without a 
vexatious police or insolent soldiery, to watch my steps ; 
let me think, and do, and speak, what I please, subject 
to no limit but that which is set by the common weal ; 
subject to no law but that which conscience binds up- 
on me ; and I will bless my country, and love its most 
rugged rocks and its most barren soil. 

I have seen my countrymen, and have been with 
them a fellow-wanderer, in other lands ; and little did 
I see or feel to warrant the apprehension, sometimes 
expressed, that foreign travel would weaken our pa- 
triotic attachments. One sigh for home — home, arose 
from all hearts. And why, from palaces and courts — 
why, from galleries of the arts, where the marble sof- 
tens into life, and painting sheds an almost living pres- 



300 THE BLESSING OP FREEDOM. 

ence of beauty around it — why, from the mountain's 
awful brow, and the lovely valleys and lakes touched 
with the sunset hues of old romance — why, from those 
venerable and touching ruins to which our very heart 
grows — why, from all these scenes, were they looking 
beyond the swellings of the Atlantic wave, to a dear- 
er and holier spot of earth — their own, own country? 
Doubtless, it was in part, because it is their country. 
But it was also, as everyone's experience will testify, be- 
cause they knew that there was no oppression, no pitiful 
exaction of petty tyranny ; because that there, they 
knew, was no accredited and irresistible religious dom- 
ination ; because that there, they knew, they should not 
meet the odious soldier at every corner, nor swarms 
of imploring beggars, the victims of misrule ; that 
there, no curse causeless did fall, and no blight, worse 
than plague and pestilence, did descend amidst the 
pure dews of heaven ; because, in fine, that there, they 
knew, was liberty — upon all the green hills, and amidst 
all the peaceful valleys — liberty, the wall of fire around 
the humblest home ; the crown of glory, studded with 
her ever-blazing stars, upon the proudest mansion ! 

My friends, upon our own homes, that blessing rests, 
that guardian care and glorious crown; and when we 
return to those homes, and so long as we dwell in them 
— so long as no oppressor's foot invades their thresh- 
olds, let us bless them, and hallow them as the homes 
of freedom ! Let us make them, too, the homes of a 
nobler freedom — of freedom from vice, from evil, from 
passion — from every corrupting bondage of the soul. 



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